♥"JJ"♥

Janice Denningberg

The Devil's Rope



I give Diago his head as we walked through the upper pasture. He chooses to stop every few steps to sample some of the sweet spring grasses. After knotting the reins around the pommel I lean back; my hands on his rump and let the sunlight soak me. There’s no hurry.

Diago and I have been together for about ten years now. Part Morgan and American Quarter horse he’s smart, tough and a good friend. Sometimes I’m sure he knows what I’m thinking. Hell for sure he’s smarter than I am. He’s got a good sense of humour too, for a horse.

We’re up here to have a look at the fences. Winter snow usually means damage and repairs need to be done each spring. I hate mending fences. Working with wire is a bitch but it has to be done.

Barbed wire is still the best thing around to control livestock. You have to respect the wire, not fear it. I’ve had it coil around me after handling it wrong that was a scary thing. It’s called the Devil’s Rope and I know why. I was cut up in more places than I care to recall.

We’ve been takin’ our time so there’s not enough daylight left to get much work done. I’m feeling lazy and we slowly make our way down to one of the ranch’s equipment sheds. We have several spread over our 10,000 acres. Each year before the winter comes on, we make sure there’s some canned stew, water, new wire, tools and some firewood stored – enough for the following spring.

Inside the sheds are a rough bunk and a small stove. It’s good enough if you’re hungry, tired and in need of simple shelter.

There’s no stable here so Diago is tethered outside. Hobbling isn’t something I believe in myself. I rub him down with some dry grass and scratch him behind the ears. I tell him to behave and give him a final pat on the withers. When I start to walk away he snorts and paws the ground and tosses his head. It’s a game we play. I stop and stretch; he sneaks up behind me and shoves me in the backside with his muzzle hard enough to make me stagger. I give him the lump of sugar he’s been waiting for all day.

I don’t worry about leaving Diago he’d let me know quick enough if there was trouble.

We see coyotes but there haven’t been any wolves around for years. From time to time we’ll hear of a cougar in the high country. Sometimes we lose a steer but not often but one now and again won’t break us. The cats have to make their way too.

I light the small stove in the shed, open a can of stew and set it to heat. I drag out the wire I’ll need for the morning, pack the tools and make sure my leather faced gloves are in the bags. There’s a sleeping bag wrapped in plastic on the bunk so I spread it out ready for later.

The stew is hot; it fills my empty belly and tastes like heaven. I sit on the step and finish my meal with a smoke. In the distance Diago grazes quietly and the sun sets behind the mountains. I still think sunsets are one of God’s miracles just like horses. There’s a little miracle in everything out here in my eyes; in the circle of life, in the sweet song of the fields and mountains, in a cowboy singing to the cattle.

In the morning we set off for the upper pasture with the supplies we need for the day. It’s 5:30 a.m. and the sun is starting to come up. Already I can tell it’s going to be a hot one, even up here.

Stringing wire alone isn’t easy so I don’t rush. I cut away all the old wire that needs replacing and string the new wire starting with the bottom piece. You have to grip the wire firmly wearing the thickest leather gloves you can find. Then hammer in a couple of staples and stretch the wire some once you reach the next post. Pull too much and the wire will snap but you want it taut otherwise the fence is useless.

Diago is unsaddled and left to graze while I work. He is restless and tosses his head and dances around himself. I stop work more than once but can’t see anything. I go to him and stroke his head telling him there’s nothing to worry over. He seems to settle under my touch.

Once the sun’s high, I strip off my shirt. Believe me I’m gonna get cut no matter how careful I am. At least this way I don’t have to buy a new shirt.

I like working hard. I like the sweat and the ache in my muscles. I’ve done this so often my body seems to know what to do; it gives me time to think.

My daddy bought his first 2,000 acres here when he was about 20 and then kept adding to it as the land came up for sale. He’s dead now; Mom and Daddy are buried on the hill behind the main house. Daddy left the place to my brother Jake and me.

Jake’s married now and involved in politics in the valley. Mostly it’s up to me and the hired hands to keep the place running. I don’t mind Jake wanting to do more for the ranchers around here; someone needs to. Now he looks after the books and accounting side of things. That’s fine with me I’m better off out here.
I’m not married yet. You need to find a woman first I guess. Oh I’ve had girlfriends but finding one that’s willing to live up here is another matter. The girl of my dreams would be out here with me; sharing the life we both love. Maybe one day we’d have a couple of kids too. It’s a nice dream.

Diago’s frightened whinnies make me look up. Suddenly he’s rearing and I see a streak of gold. Damn it! It’s a cougar. I carry a rifle but it’s back down the hill with Diago’s saddle. Idiot is all I can think as I run for my gun.

Diago is backing away, kicking and screaming at the attacking cougar. I feel sick as I watch Diago dance out of the cougars reach. The cat stops; assessing its prey. Diago’s head is lowered as he watches his attacker warily. The cat stalks around Diago looking for a weakness in his defense. The cougar launches itself and misses Diago’s throat but its claws open wounds on his left shoulder.

Scared now, Diago turns to run, kicking out at the cat on his heels. He nearly connects.

I reach my gun and raise it, fire and miss. s***. As the cougar turns its attention my way I notice something seems wrong. This isn’t right. The gunshot should have scared the cat off. All I can think of is rabies. The golden cat charges and I miss again. I reload but the cougar is all over me before I can fire a third shot.

I’ve got it around the throat trying to hold it off. It reeks of wet fur and old fetid meat. It is so much stronger than I am and inch long claws rake huge gashes in my back and legs. I know I can’t hold it away much longer. I struggle with the cat knowing I can’t win. I can see the madness in the golden eyes and feel hot saliva drip onto my neck and chest. Loss of blood and my exertion have drained the fight out of me. Part of me wants to hurry the inevitable.

Then Diago is beside me. He stops, rears and manages to take the cougar by the tail and throws it. Dazed the cougar lays still. In that moment I crawl away and try to reach the rifle but the cat comes after me landing on my back and shoving me into the dirt. Diago goes after it again. I watch as he kicks the cougar’s skull in.

It’s like he wants to make that cat pay. He picks it up again and throws it. If I’d not seen it I’d have a hard time believin’ something like that could happen.

I use my shirt to staunch Diago’s wounds. We rested for a bit but I knew I had to get us both to a doctor. I have to bring the cat back with me and it near kills me to manhandle the carcass onto Diago’s back. I clamber on and send him in the direction of home. Diago carried me and the dead cat back to the ranch. I get stitches, rabies treatments and pretty nurses for a few days. Diago gets some well-earned rest and care with the vet.

A couple of weeks later, we’re heading back up to finish the job we started. I can’t help but wonder why horses choose to carry us. If they truly didn’t want to there is no way on earth we could force them. It’s still a mystery why they do – one of God’s miracles.



Written and accredited to Janice Denningberg From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for helping me with this.