CowboyPoetry.com    Cowboy Poetry and Music and More at the BAR-D Ranch

STAN TIXIER 
Eden, Utah
About Stan Tixier

 

One of

Lariat Laureate Runner Up

Recognized for his poem, Bugger Red

 

 

 

Bugger Red

Oh, there's tales of fame and glory,
And I'll tell you folks a story
   Of a buckin' horse that had a special knack
For dislodgin' skillful riders,
Downright rough and tough rawhiders,
   That assumed a set position on his back.
He was kinda' lean and wiry,
With a temper mean and fiery,
   He was wild from birth, an outlaw born and bred,
But an average lookin' pony,
Light haired sorrel, sorta' roany,
   He was known throughout the west as Bugger Red.

Bugger Red, the name struck terror
For the ordinary wearer
   Of the high healed, high top boot with pointy toe,
And the twisters, those that knew him
Would regret the day they drew him
   In a contest that they call a Rodeo.

He was fifteen hands but rangy,
Long tailed, cockleburred and mangy,
   When they found him in Montana on the range,
Though a few had tried to ride him,
When the contract rider tried him
   It was certain that his life was gonna' change,
'Cause he had instinctive movement
And with practice came improvement,
   But at six years old he never had been fed,
He put on a couple hundred
And they scratched their head and wondered
   If he'd make a saddle bronc, this Bugger Red.

Well, he got his start in Boise,
With a large-sized crowd and noisy,
   And a salty rider got a big surprise,
When that red horse left him hangin'
And his pumpkin head went bangin'
   As the sand came up and smacked him 'tween the eyes.
So he went from there to Baker,
Like a mover and a shaker
   He dispatched a twister quicker than a flash,
Poor guy landed in a rubble,
Shoulda' never took the trouble,
   'Cause he never stood a chance to with the cash.

Then in Pendleton, by golly,
When a rider took a fall, he
   Said he never saw it comin', never did,
He was stickin' for a few jumps,
Suddenly he had some new lumps,
   And ole Bugger showed that he would not be rid.
That performance was repeated
Many times, and undefeated
   Was this buckin' horse no one could ride, instead
Every hopeful bronco buster,
All the luck that they could muster
   Weren't enough to stay aboard that Bugger Red.

Bugger made his reputation
With an awesome combination
   Of just brutal force along with speed unique,
He could jar you 'til you rattle
Then rotate a slippery saddle
   With a most effective buckin' horse technique,
He was ornery as the devil
As he started straight and level
   For a jump or two and then he'd bog his head,
With a swift and twistin' motion
Like a rowboat in the ocean,
   Some poor cowboy would depart from Bugger Red.

So, for season after season,
It was obvious the reason
   Bugger Red, you see, still never had been rode,
Lotsa' top hands came and tried him,
Not a one could stay astride him,
   Each and every sad contestant would be throwed.
Well, his fame was quickly spreadin',
It was likely he was headin'
   For a special class wherein it can be said
Ain't no buckin' horse that's tougher,
Born to make a cowboy suffer,
   Than the toughest of them all, old Bugger Red.

But alas, it's truly spoken
Every record must be broken,
   And the very best there is will one day fail,
One spring evening down in Reno,
And it's true for all that we know
   Well, he wrote a final chapter to this tale,
There a rider drawn at random,
With some luck and skill in tandem,
   Proved there's never been a horse alive or dead,
That at last could not be ridden,
Every move was to his bidin',
   And he scored a winnin' ride on Bugger Red.

Oh, there's legend and there's fable,
Cowboys sit around a table
   And imbibe a bit and tell each other lies,
Now and then amongst  them fellers
There's authentic history tellers,
   And you find your mouth drops open in surprise,
For when saddle broncs are spoken
Of, there isn't any jokin',
   'Cause for every rank cayuse that's spurred and bled,
Just forget them other suckers,
When they name the greatest buckers
   There's a horse that's mentioned first, it's Bugger Red.

Bugger Red, the name struck terror
For the ordinary wearer
   Of the high heeled, high top boot with pointy toe,
And the twisters, those that knew him
Would regret the day they drew him
   In a contest that they call a Rodeo!

© 1993, Stan Tixier
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

We asked Stan how he came to write this poem and he told us: I wish I could tell you some wild story about how this was some real buckin' horse that I tried to ride once and got throwed off in the dust, but alas, it ain't so. Sometimes my poems are from real stories I've heard or read about, sometimes old jokes or things I know about first hand, but this one, like a lot of others for me, I just dreamed up.

We asked Stan why he thinks cowboy poetry is important and he replied:  

Cowboy poetry is important because it perpetuates a unique art form that has its roots in our Western heritage. It is unlike other, more highly cultured poetry (that usually doesn't even rhyme anymore), in that it uses the cowboy vernacular and it usually tells authentic stories, whether humorous or serious, in a highly entertaining way.

 

Stan Tixier was previously

one of

Lariat Laureate Runner Up

Recognized for his poem, A Day's Work

 

A Day's Work

Now I'm not one to fuss a lot or get all sad and whiny,
But that day on the X Bar hadn't started off too shiny,
I'd slept out on the bunkhorse porch and in the open air,
That pole-cat musta' been attracted by the snorin' there,
He chewed off half my boot top, it was salty I assume,
And 'fore he left he sprayed my bed and me with his perfume.

Then Cookie burned the biscuits when the fire got too hot,
I think he dropped his wad of snoose down in the coffee pot,
The eggs were slick and slimy and the bacon limp and tired,
So breakfast on that morning left a lot to be desired,
And when I headed toward the barn and glanced at the corral
I weren't surprised to see the gate wide open sure as hell.

The wranglin' pony'd slipped the latch and exited from there,
Went grazin' near the ranch house like he didn't have a care,
I coulda' overlooked that much and issued him a pardon,
But that gol-dern cayuse was trompin' in the boss's garden,
He'd et the peas and carrot tops and chomped off all the corn,
I'd cause him to regret the very day that he was born.

I caught him up and whacked his rump and then I led him back,
I threw my saddle on the rough and jerked up all the slack,
I stepped aboard and wheeled him 'round and raked him with a spur,
What happened next ain't all that clear, it's sorta' like a blur,
That gentle wranglin' pony musta' had enough, I think,
He bogged his head and turned me over quicker than a wink.

I finally got him all lined out and started lookin' 'round
The horse and milk and cow pasture for some tracks there on the ground.
That'd give a clue to where the saddle horses might be at,
The wind came up a-gustin' and it blew away my hat,
It rolled a hundred years or more to where the fence was down,
It 'peered the whole remuda was just nowhere to be found.

I spent the gol-darn mornin' huntin' horses that had strayed
And workin' on the pasture fence and bleedin', I'm afraid,
Cause barb wire's sharp and rusty and it sure can tear your hide,
I wished I'd had some better gloves before I took that ride,
I got the horses in at last and caught my favorite one
And started on my all-day ride, the afternoon half done.

I rode the big south pasture checkin' fence and water-gaps,
But in my rush I'd plumb forgot my slicker and my chaps,
And don't you know that was the day we finally got some rain,
We needed it so bad that I'd for certain not complain,
It was a sudden shower and the kind that helps, I'm told,
But I'd be lucky if I didn't catch my death of cold.

While ridin' down a gully in a soft and sandy track
I found myself a-starin' at a Western Diamondback
At just about eye-level, it was coiled up on the bank,
Instinctively I jabbed the spurs into my horse's flank,
He jumped about ten feet or so just as that rattler struck
And missed me by a whisker in a welcome turn of luck.

I found an old cow upside down, her back down in a hole,
I couldn't tell you how she'd done it, not to save my soul
And she was nearly all done in, a strugglin' to get free,
She'd been a dead old critter soon if it were not for me,
I got my loop around her horns, my horse was toward her rear,
He pulled with all his might and turned her upright, pretty near.

While she was a gropin' groggy, on her belly, in a daze
I got down to retrieve my rope, then go our separate ways,
And as I grabbed the honda she awoke, it was a stunner,
She came up fightin' mad despite the favor that I'd done her,
She needed somethin' handy to combat and she chose me,
But I turned tail for sure and scrambled up a Cedar tree.

That X Bar cow lost interest in the cowboy that she'd treed.
She never did seem grateful for my beneficial deed,
And I crawled down and caught my horse and turned him headin' home,
The sun ball had become a sorta' fadin' yellow dome,
It'd be near dark exceptin' for the risin' big full moon,
But I would be all done with my day's ridin' pretty soon.

And bein' off my schedule then I hit a gentle lope,
A-mutterin' to myself 'bout how I'd almost lost my rope,
And neither horse nor rider saw the hidden badger hole,
But both his front feet found it and we fell just like a pole,
I landed twenty feet away amid some prickly pear,
The horse unhurt thank goodness, so I'd had another scare.

And then I saw a heifer layin' stretched out near the trail,
A calf's front feet were stickin' out and showin' 'neath her tail,
So I got out my O. B. chain with links so flat and strong
And I hooked it on those slippery legs and then before too long
I worked the head out gently and I gave a final pull,
And out there slipped a fine big healthy brawlin' baby bull.

So Mama and her little boy were both okay that night.
The moon was high as I rode home a feelin' quite all right,
And even if some things went wrong a-startin' off the day,
And didn't seem to get a whole lot better right away,
That last small chore was somethin' that sure caused my face to smile
It made the whole day's effort seem a little more worthwhile.

© 1993, Stan Tixier
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

We asked Stan about his inspiration for "A Day's Work" and he replied:

I wrote "A Day's Work" to describe some events that have happened to me and, I'm sure, to others, on a working cattle ranch. The poem's message is that there's always a "silver lining" even when things don't go right at first. I'm not sure why I write any of my poems; they just come to me, and I write them down and then memorize them. I enjoy taking an old joke, or even a new one, and making a cowboy poem out of it.

 

The Rescue

There were clouds on the horizon that September afternoon,
And the restless prairie breezes there foretold that pretty soon
There could be a storm a-comin' or a soakin' shower at best,
From the far-off roll of thunder and the darkness in the west.

But he'd given her his promise, and there wasn't half a chance
That he wouldn't come to take her to the schoolhouse, to the dance,
He had rented him a surrey from the livery shop in town,
So come hell or come high water he just couldn't let her down.

Buck, his cowhorse, got a lesson just a day or two before,
How to put up with a harness and a wagon pullin' chore,
It was not without objection, for he bowed his head and balked,
He'd of told the boss, "Forget it!," if'n horses coulda' talked.

Buck, he learnt to pull a buggy good enough to do the task,
And they started off to fetch her at her cabin near the pass,
But the wind commenced to blowin' and the rain commenced to fall,
By the time he reached the rimrock he could hardly see at all.

Now, a little herd of bison had been grazin' up a draw,
And they started gettin' nervous, and he turned his head and saw
A stampeedin' bunch of critters runnin' straight and runnin' fast,
Down the draw and hell-for-leather toward the cabin near the pass.

'Twas a sudden clap of thunder and a jagged lightnin' streak
That had set the the herd to runnin crost the meadow and the creek,
He could see it in an instant and it wasn't hard to know
There'd be trouble down the canyon from that herd of buffalo.

For she'd started out to meet him, disregardin' clouds and wind,
She was 50 yards from safety when he saw the leaders spin
Toward the pass below the cabin and the thunderin' herd was bound
To converge at her position and would surely run her down.

But he had a better angle and was closer by a half,
And he had no time to plan it, had no time to cry or laugh,
He jumped quickly from the surrey, cut the traces with his knife,
Vaulted onto Buck and bareback rode to save his darlin's life.

There was wind and streaks of lightnin', rain was poundin' in his face,
And old Buck was runnin' freely, like he sure enjoyed the race,
With the bison fast approachin' as a herd of demons can,
And he swooped her up an instant fore the leaders by them ran.

There was thunder in the distance on that cool September night,
But he hardly seemed to notice, as they danced he held her tight,
And her dress was damp and wrinkled, he was muddy, tired and sore,
And old Buck would never have to pull a surrey anymore!

© 2002, Stan Tixier
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

John Henry's Ghost

It was in Diablo Canyon in the fall of twenty-eight
That the owner of the X Bar (says the legend) met his fate,
He had dropped down off Skull Mesa huntin' for a doggie stray,
His big roan horse slipped and stumbled and John Henry died that day,
'Cause the trail wuz rough and narrow and the cliff below wuz steep,
And John Henry took a tumble in Diablo Canyon deep.

All us hands and Widow Henry hunted for a week or so,
'Till we found his bones a-bleachin' in the canyon down below,
Where a cougar family feasted and the buzzards cleaned the rest,
But the fall had likely killed him and we figured that wuz best,
Since that time around Skull Mesa and Diablo Canyon, most
Every puncher on the X Bar's known about John Henry's Ghost!

If you ride there in the evening and the breeze is from the west,
And the moon is full or nearly, just above the mountain crest,
There's a moanin', you can hear it, like a voice that's soft and low,
And it's comin' from Diablo, from the canyon down below,
If you're there in late October and you're lucky, you can boast
That you've ridden in Diablo and you've heard John Henry's Ghost!

We were gatherin' the cattle for a roundup late last fall,
And old Pete and me and Billy took our turn and got the call
To clean out Skull Mesa pasture, where about two hundred pair,
Cows with long aged calves were grazin', some were in the canyon there,
Pete wuz pushin' close to thirty up the trail along a wall,
I wuz just a ways below him when I saw young Billy fall.

It wuz at a narrow portion of the trail, I knew it well,
Steep and deep and jagged rocky, it wuz where John Henry fell,
Billy's pony lost his footin', it wuz really kinda' weird,
When the horse tripped, off went Billy and he simply disappeared,
There wuz no way he'd survive it, there wuz no way he could stop,
Off a cliff, near perpendicular, I saw poor Billy drop.

I caught up with Pete and told him, where the trail wuz sorta' wide,
We abandoned all the cattle and two grown men stood and cried,
Then we caught up Billy's cow-hoss and we sadly set about
Headin' for the canyon bottom to haul Billy's carcass out,
And in 'bout a half an hour, when we reached the likely spot
Where the mangled body shoulda' been, we saw that it wuz not.

So we searched and finally found him there a-sittin' on the ground,
He wuz dizzy, eyes glazed over, but the lad wuz safe and sound,
When at last he gained his senses and could tell us what took place,
Pete and me saw an amazin' and serene look on his face,
Billy said that he wuz fallin', fallin' headlong toward the ground,
When an updraft, like a zephyr, caught him up and eased him down.

Well, I looked at Pete and pinched him, and so likewise Pete pinched me,
And although nobody said it, well, the both of us could see
That the updraft had a helper, and it coulda' been a ha'nt,
Lookin' after our pard, Billy, like an angel or a saint,
Billy smiled and speculated 'bout what lifted him from harm,
"It was probably a zephyr, but it felt like someone's arms!"

Well, the legend of Diablo grows, when ridin' all alone,
And you're up around Skull Mesa, you can feel it in yur bones,
And when cowboy jobs seem risky, we don't hafta' fret or cuss,
'Cause we figure on the X Bar, somethin's watchin' out for us.
So us punchers 'round the bunkhouse raise our cups and drink a toast
To the spirit of Diablo, otherwise, John Henry's Ghost!

© 2004, Stan Tixier
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 


Mustangs and Moonshine

In the year 1928 cowboy poet Griff Crawford of Wellington, Kansas, published in the Kansas City Star a dozen poems about Wild Horse Charley of the Cross-Bar-Lazy-B.

 The collection sold for $1.00   Crawford's poems were exciting, imaginative and entertaining with stories of fantastic adventure and dubious achievement. Most featured Charley's  "bronc Apache," his trusty cow-hoss. Since there will likely be no more Wild Horse Charley poems from the original author, I decided to write another, in exactly the same style, to honor a fine cowboy poet. I'm sorry I never knew him.



Mustangs and Moonshine

We were speaking of wild horses
   On the Cross-Bar Lazy-B,
When the foreman, Wild Hoss Charley,
   Coiled his rope and said to me:

"Ever run the mustangs, Pardner?
   It's a sure excitin' chase,
Well, I done it in Montana,
   Pryor Mountains was the place,
Where a stallion band of fifteen,
    Maybe twenty mares or so
Had been drinkin' from a pot-hole
     In a canyon down below.
They wuz sure some fancy ponies,
    Mostly bays and grullas too,
And I aimed to get my loop around
     The necks of quite a few,
'Cause a-runnin' with their mamas
    And that stud hoss I could see
There wuz youngsters, bright and shiny,
    As to be a-pleasin' me.
One colt caught my eye for certain
    And I'm gonna' tell ya' how
That I got my bronc, Apache,
     Yeah the hoss I'm ridin' now.
Well, we chased 'em for a week, we did,
     Acrost the hills and cricks,
And we learned that they wuz crafty,
     Knowin' all the proper tricks
For avoidin' us good punchers
     As we followed on the track,
When we thought we had 'em cornered,
    Why, they'd up and double back.
But they always went for water
     At that pot-hole in the draw,
So I figures up a strategy
     Like none they'd ever saw,
I threw Deckers on the pack mules,
     Rode to town and to the mill
For some barley, tubes and kettles
     And we built ourselves a still.
There was plenty wood for cookin',
     Plenty water handy too,
And fore-long we has ourselves
     A good supply of hardy brew.
Now it tasted mighty pleasant
     As we sampled it to see
If them broomtails might enjoy it
     Like the boys sure did and me.
So we pours it in the pot-hole,
     That by now wuz getting' low,
'Til we conjures up a mixture,
     Probably half and half or so.
Then we stations ourselves downwind
    Of that cocktail that we made,
And we're waitin', Pard, we're wait'in
     In the canyon in the shade.
Then that evening right on schedule
     Comes the stud-band for a drink,
With the lead-mare plenty cautious,
     Not for certain what to think
Of their pot-hole's new aroma
     It acquired from the still,
But they sure wuz hot and thirsty
     So they stood and drank their fill.
And they all went back for seconds
     And they soaked up all they could,
'Til they started gettin' mellow,
     Like I'z hopin' that they would,
And that evening in the Pryors,
     Dangdest thing you ever saw
Wuz an equine happy hour
     At that pot-hole in the draw.
When they turned to make their exit,
     With their daily drinkin' done,
They wuz staggerin' and stumblin'
    And wuz blotto, every one,
And it wasn't any trouble,
     Same as walkin' through a door,
Just to herd 'em to a pole corral
     We'd built a month before.
Then we sorted out the best 'uns
    And conducted us a draw,
Pard, that's how I come to get
    My bronc, Apache, and his ma.
But we hung around a couple days,
     I'm gonna' tell ya' why,
 Them dang mustangs wouldn't leave the place
     Until that hole ran dry!"

Does Apache still enjoy
    A little hooch put in his drink?
But the foreman, Wild Hoss Charley,
     Sez, "He's weaned by now, I think!"

© 2004, Stan Tixier
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

See Stan Tixier's poem, The Golden Spike, in the announcement for the

First Annual Golden Spike Cowboy Poetry and Music Festival

 

 

  About Stan Tixier:

As a young man, Stan Tixier was a working cowboy on the Money Hereford Ranch in southern Colorado. He served in the U.S. Navy during the Korean War and later graduated from the University of Arizona with BS and MS degrees in Range Management. After a career with the U.S. Forest Service where he worked largely with livestock operators to improve range condition and grazing management, he was president of the Society for Range Management.

Stan Tixier has been writing and reciting cowboy poetry since 1991. His books, A Good Lookin' Horse, Cowboy Poetry and other verse, and A Better Lookin' Horse have been widely distributed. CDs with those titles plus The Best Lookin' Horse and An Average Lookin' Mule are popular with fans everywhere. Stan has recited to audiences throughout the West—in Utah, Nevada, Arizona, Montana, California, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas.

He has won competition in "Cowboy Poetry Rodeos" in Cedar City and Kanab, Utah, with some of the best cowboy poets anywhere competing. He has been a regular on the Utah Performing Arts Tour and the Weber State University Story Telling Festival. His poem, "Spurs," was featured as the cover poem on the 2008 Western Horseman Calendar. The other poem in the calendar was by Baxter Black.

Stan has written and published three novels. Green Underwear and The Badge with a Tree both are stories about forest rangers that tell how they use horses and work with ranchers and livestock people. A third novel, Riptide, is a tale of a remarkable racehorse.

Stan and his wife, Jan, live in Eden, Utah, where they raised and trained Foxtrotting Horses for over 20 years. They have 3 married children and 11 grandchildren.

For copies of his CDs and books, log on to 
www.westernheritage.com or call 800-303-5703

To schedule a program, contact Stan Tixier,
5538 E 2300 N, Eden, UT 84310
or call 801-745-4121 or cell 801-710-1888
j.s.tixier@pineviewinternet.com


 


An Average Lookin' Mule, CD by Stan Tixier

Includes:

An Average Lookin' Mule
The Whole Truth
A Cattle Drive
Stupid Flies
The Bullfight
You've Been Drinking
Mustangs and Moonshine
Luck of the Draw
A Gun Totin' Cowboy
Auction Contention
That Soggy Ride
The Buffalo
Gunslinger
Welcome Rain
El Ladron
Rhymes with Rain
Circus Capers
The Lesson
Tabasco
John Henry's Ghost

CDs are $8 each

add $2.00 postage per order

  from Stan Tixier, 5538 E. 2300 N., Eden, Utah 84310  801/745-4121  email

 


The Best Lookin' Horse, tape by Stan Tixier


The Best Lookin' Horse, CD by Stan Tixier

 The Best Lookin' Horse tape and CD include:

The Best Lookin' Horse
You Get the Gate
Talkin' Scales
Conservation
Drouth in Perspective
A Friend Indeed
Bad News
Did Ya Ever?
The Consequences
The Argument
Winter in Wyoming
Cowboy First Aid
Shorty and the Bear
Golf's Easy
The Vet Bill
No Contest

Tapes are $6 each
CDs are $8 each

add $2.00 postage per order

  from Stan Tixier, 5538 E. 2300 N., Eden, Utah 84310  801/745-4121  email

  A Better Lookin' Horse, book by Stan Tixier

Stan Tixier's latest book, A Better Lookin' Horse, illustrated by Dave Prevedel and Allen Bighham, is, he says "the logical extension of my first book, A Good Lookin' Horse (Cowboy Poetry and Other Verse.  If a third book is ever written, it will of course be, The Best Lookin' Horse, and in fact that's the title of my third tape, and that poem is the last one in this book, just in case the third book doesn't get written."  There are more than 40 poems and a useful glossary. Poems include:

A Better Lookin' Horse
The Sermon
A Team Roper's Dilemma
Target Practice
The Battle of I-15
The Mistress
The Transformation
Drouth, In Perspective
The High Uintas
Horse Tradin'
The Visit
Reincarnation II
The Team Roper and the Funeral
A Hand
One Damn Fine Sermon
Santa's Dilemma
Conservation
The Spotted Owl
The Ranger's Opportunity
The Saga of Supervisor Hugh
The Ballad of Ranger Bob
The Revelation
Did 'Ya Ever?
The Mule (Addendum)
The Rescue
The Vet Bill
You Get the Gate
Talkin' Scales
The Remedy
Cowboy First Aid
Winter in Wyoming
The Consequences
Golf's Easy
A Friend Indeed
The Run Away
Bad News
Shorty and the Bear
The Horse
The Argument
The Lone Boatman
Free Verse
How's That?
The Old Bulls
No Contest
The Best Lookin' Horse

The book is available for $8 (plus $2.00 postage per order) from: Stan Tixier, 5538 E. 2300 N., Eden, Utah 84310  801/745-4121  email

 
A Better Lookin' Horse
, tape by Stan Tixier


A Better Lookin' Horse, CD by Stan Tixier

A Better Lookin' Horse tape and CD includes:

A Better Lookin' Horse
The Sermon
The Team Roper's Dilemma
Target Practice
The Battle of I-15
The High Uintas
Horse Tradin'
The Visit
Bugger Red
Reincarnation II
The Team Roper and the Funeral
The Transformation
The Spotted Owl
One Damn Fine Sermon
A Hand
The Rescue

Tapes are $6 each
CDs are $8 each

add $2.00 postage per order

 from Stan Tixier, 5538 E. 2300 N., Eden, Utah 84310  801/745-4121 email

 

  A Good Lookin' Horse, book by Stan Tixier

Stan Tixier describes A Good Lookin' Horse, illustrated by Dave Prevedel and Allen Bingham, as "my best effort to tell some old cowboy jokes and some true stories, some original yarns and to explain what I understand about some animals, objects or issues, using poetry to tell it...I have drawn material from stories that friends and relatives have told me and from experiences on the Money Hereford Ranch in southern Colorado many years ago...."  There are more than 40 poems and a useful glossary.  Poems include:

A Good Lookin' Horse
Spurs
The Wreck
Old Traditions/Modern Methods
The Salmon River Breaks
A Cowboy Don't Like to Fix Fence
Cussin' Frankie
Apprentice Cowboy
What's in a Name?
The Lesson
A Horse of a Different Color
A Grazing Plan
Riptide
The Gaited Horse
The Mule
Welcome Rain
Gramineae
Rangeland Tug-O-War
No Deposit, No Return
The Buckaroo
The Luck of the Draw
Declinin' Cowboy
The Cow
The Race
It Just Don't Rain Like it Used To
Basically Correct
The Buffalo
Cowboy Competition
The Forest Ranger
Hazards on the Trail
The Wildlife Report
The Parade
A Cowboy's Scarf
Two Bulls
Auction Contention
The Gopher
The Grizzly Bear
A Day's Work
Tabasco
Bugger Red
One Cowboy's Prayer
A Brat's Eye View

The book is available for $8 (plus $2.00 postage per order) from: Stan Tixier, 5538 E. 2300 N., Eden, Utah 84310  801/745-4121  email

 


A Good Lookin' Horse, tape by Stan Tixier


A Good Lookin' Horse, CD by Stan Tixier

A Good Lookin' Horse tape and CD includes:

A Good Lookin' Horse
Spurs
The Salmon River Breaks
The Wreck
A Cowboy Don't Like to Fix Fence
A Grazing Plan
The Mule
Cussin' Frankie
The Race
Rangeland Tug-O-War
The Parade
The Buckaroo
Old Traditions/Modern Methods
A Day's Work
One Cowboy's Prayer

Tapes are $6 each
CDs are $8 each

add $2.00 postage per order

 from Stan Tixier, 5538 E. 2300 N., Eden, Utah 84310  801/745-4121  email

 

 

Member of the
Cowboy Poets of Utah

www.cowboypoetry.com

 

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