Cowboy Poetry and Music and More at the BAR-D Ranch

Wilton, California
About Victoria Boyd




Balin' Twine

Ya know, most folks got a standby when there's fixin' up to do...
Like gray duct tape, barbed wire, rope...and even super glue!
Why, I've seen folks use electric cord to wrap and hold stuff fine;
But even with all them to choose from ... I just stick to mine.
Mine comes in different colors: orange, yellow, blue n' white.
Out at the ranch we use the stuff when e're we have a plight.
We fix our fences - wood n' wire - repairin' them with blue;
An' chin straps braided outta orange works just as good as new.
I keep some in my jacket... and the truck, behind the seat.
I've used it for a lead rope - ties a horse up purty neat.
N' once - a yeller dog was drownin' in the old canal,
I saw her, stopped... and stood perplexed 'cuz no one heard me yel
Then I recalled the balin' twine I had back in the truck
N' figured if the dog cooperated ... and with luck ...
I'd pull her out. And that's what happened!  Just three strands of white;
I lowered myself ... tied to a grate ... and saved that sorry sight.
Then, I've tied dogs in pickups and repaired a cinch or two.
I use the yeller stuff fer laces in my old work shoes.
Yup! Them manufacturers had a good idea when they made twine;
There's not a problem hereabouts that I cain't fix real fine.
Jus' wish they'd ask my preference cuz I'd tell 'em brown n' green...
So's when I'm fixin' up the place ... it ain't so easily seen!!!

© 1998, Victoria Boyd
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Victoria told us:  I really do mend our fences with blue baling twine and whatever other color is at hand if I need to tie up, restrain, lift, secure or drag something... and I did save that yeller dog with 3 strands of white balin' twine.  That was the inspiration for this particular poem.


Lil Buckaroo

Three foot of struttin' manchild,
Chinks flappin' in the breeze;
Sunlight glintin' off red-gold hair,
Grass nearly to his knees.

Cows mooin', calves a bawlin',
Cowboys lopin' 'round the pen;
One lonely little white-face
Walks t'wards the boy, and then...

Each lookin' at the other,
Not a word or sound is made;
Each thinkin' 'bout the other -
"Just you wait!   I ain't afraid!"

© 2005, Victoria Boyd
This poem may not be reprinted or 
reposted without the author's written permission.

Victoria told us this poem is " a popular request at our bi-annual branding in the foothills as we gather 'round the campfire at the end of the day. I wrote this poem while watching a little 3 year old friend of mine at the branding years back.  He is now 12 yrs old and out-ropes all the adults at the brandings and has already won saddles and buckles at team ropings.  His mother is his teacher and mentor."



A Cowboy's Hat

  A cowboy's hat is more than a hat... it's a friend and a tool of his trade.

  It has many uses... is easy to store... doesn't get scared and run off afraid.

  It just sits right there on a cowboy's head... settled down in a friendly way,

  'N comes in all sizes 'n shapes 'n colors...  some cost an entire month's pay!

  When bringin' the cattle out of the mountains a cowboy hat knows it's place...

  It booney crashes through trees for the cowboy... protectin' his ears 'n his face.

  Out ridin' the range, a cowboy's hat keeps the snow 'n the hail from his head...

  'N some cowboys use their hats for pillows when usin' the ground for their bed.

  That big, wide brim on a cowboy's hat keeps a cowboy safe from the sun...

  'N it keeps the sun from a cowboy's eyes should he have to reach for his gun.

  When its wild 'n stormy 'n thunder rolls that umbrella-brim stops the rain...

  'N protects from the wet 'n the cold 'n the wind... but you'll never hear it complain.

  A cowboy hat with a neckerchief tucked inside on a freezin' day

  Keeps a cowboy's head as nice 'n warm as a calf snuggled down in hay.

  Some cowboy's hats have been known to carry new kittens or pups or eggs,

  'N a cowboy laughin' real belly laughs can slap his hat on his legs.

  A cowboy's hat hides a baldin' head anywhere he goes, anytime...

  'N a cowboy hat is a fancy thing tilted back when recitin' rhyme.

  A cowboy hat is a drawin' card for that girl who's caught his eye...

  'N the hat's wide brim hides a sheepish grin when his Scoop Loop goes awry.

  The crown serves as a washbowl when a cowboy heads for town...

  'N the hatband holds the hat's shape while it circles 'round the crown.

  Sometimes a cowboy's hat don't work... just sits upon his head...

  But you'll never see a cowboy set his hat upon a bed!

  That's real bad luck for cowboys... best just set it on the floor;

  Or better yet, hang it kindly on the hat rack by the door.

  For a cowboy hat tossed on a bed will cause a cowboy pain...

  It'll grieve the cowboy sorely!  He can't wear that hat again!

  But will take his 20X Beaver ...'n bade it a sad goodbye....

  As he lights a match to its silver belly 'n wipes a tear from his eye.

  © 2005, Victoria Boyd
  This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Fred's Horse Red

There was this cowboy folks called Fred, who rode a big horse name of Red.

Fred wore a Stetson on his head and used the hard ground for his bed.

One day this cowboy chose to wed 'n leave the life he'd always led.

He'd stable big Red in the shed 'n share his new wife's comfy bed.

Well, Red was schemin' while Fred led Red to his new home in the shed.

Red figured he would show ol' Fred how this dumb choice was one he'd dread.

So Red snuck Fred's hat on the bed 'n blame went to Fred's newlywed.

Fred's temper flared... sad tears were shed... his bride, she cried... her pleas were pled!

This was the day their vows were said, but Fred slept in the shed with Red.

Next day (a new hat on his head) Fred rode away on schemin' Red.

© 2005, Victoria Boyd
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

We asked Victoria about her inspiration for this poem, and she told us: Different aspects of cowboy life got this poem started in my head and once it got going I just began writing it. Altho' it's a silly kind of poem it portrays some serious aspects of life, like trying to make changes amid outside influences, love and commitment, deceit, loss,  choosing your loyalties, manipulation, heartache, etc.  What often seems simple is often not.  Altho' it's a funny poem, its also sad. I just write 'em as they come to me.


Calf Girl and the Heifer Calf

We worked cattle today, just some mamas and calves,
And it sure should have gone very well;
But, the guys got so aggressive at times...
It made us girls mad as hell!

They’d whip a cow... and yell at her mean...
and slam her poor head in the squeeze;
then kick her behind, and hot shot it too,
and smack her if she dared sneeze.

"Don’t push her so hard, don’t rattle her chain...
just give her some time to think!"
"Don’t yell and whip her and chase her like that,
you’ll push her right over the brink."

But cowboys don’t listen to woman talk,
(sayin’ women don’t make any sense)
so they did it their way and, once again,
chased that wild heifer over the fence.

Now this went on from mornin’ till night,
runnin’, yellin’ and pushin’ too fast;
and finally the cowboys simply gave up...
before they corralled their last.

They drove too hard, she jumped too high,
nearly get her... and she’d escape;
more panels went up, new fences got jumped,
here and there a dent and a scrape.

Well, the girl just quiet like opened the gate
and talking soft to the calf...
pointed the way where the calf could go,
down the lane, where she’d be safe.

That heifer calf’s eyes fairly softened with that,
looked to where the girl pointed the way,
and with a thoughtful look on her face
simply turned and began to sashay.

She sashayed across that big open field
and into that small narrow lane;
the girl speaking soft encouraging words...
Provin’ she’s the Calf Girl... Again!

© 2005, Victoria Boyd
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Victoria told us, "My inspiration for this poem was a day of what it says. I could not believe how out of control everything got, I stood back and wondered what had happened to the men's minds...the worse it got the worse they got. It got to be kind of funny, in a pathetic sort of way. My girlfriend and I stopped trying to help after a while 'cause it surely didn't look like they'd ever get that heifer to do anything they wanted, especially the way they were going about it. And those of you who know cattle, know one young heifer alone won't herd too well! We finally got the guys to just stop and be quiet and stand still...the heifer stopped and assessed us all. My girlfriend caught the heifer's eye and quietly pointed where we wanted her to go and...she went. Therefore, the poem."


Boots and Spurs

Boots and spurs…old and new…
Line the bunkhouse wall, near the door.
Stories stretching across the years
Like rowel scars ‘cross the floor. 

Buckaroo boots with horseman’s heels
And flowers stitched in green;
For showing off, with jeans tucked in,
So every stitch is seen. 

Slouched and scuffed, old plain brown boots
With roper’s heels rolled out…
From walking fence lines, birthing calves;
From living cared about.

Handmade boots with inlaid hearts;
Murph didn’t spare the cost.
The story goes...they’re ‘bout a child;
A baby girl he lost.

Jim’s new Boulets stand straight and tall;
All polished, black, and clean.
With custom handmade silver spurs…
Most every cowboy’s dream.

Then there’s the lace up Packers
That young kid used to wear;
They got him drug behind a colt.
Now Cookie leaves them there.

There’s stories with each pair of boots;
There’s memories from the years.
Of love and death, good times and bad,
Of laughter and of tears.

Boots and spurs know cowboys best!
They know their strengths, and sins.
They know their fears, their hopes, their dreams,
Their losses, and their wins.

© 2008, Victoria Boyd
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Victoria told us, "It just occurred to me one day that my boots are involved with me in all my endeavors. They muck out stalls with me as I listen to cowboy poetry, scriptures, my favorite songs, or books on my iPod.  They ride with me and my horse as we mosey along checking cows and calves...chatting with my husband about kids and grandkids, they carry me around while I talk privy conversations on my cell phone to those kids and grandkids...usually while mucking stalls, they hang out with me as I teach grandchildren horsemanship skills, they’re with me as I train my colts and mustangs, they hear me pray, they hear me laugh, they hear me cry...they’re with me in joy and sorrow, in work and play, they hear everything...more than any living soul. They know me best. They’re a part of me! And the poem began to flow."



The Little Bay Mare

That 14 hands mare in that old Aussie riggin’
A standin’ alone over there
Appears to be something fer women and kids
(Don’t be fooled by her sweet, demure air).

She’s a cyclone in horseshoes, a demon on fire
with sidewindin’, corkscrewin’ zeal
Underneath that soft outer, sweet smellin’ horseterior
Hides Cotton Rosser’s ideal.

She’ll give you no warnin’, just launch you straight up!
With a twist, in midair, off you’ll go!
Heaven n’ earth, sky n’ dirt… things are spinnin’…
You’ll fly mighty high; then land low.

She’s laid me out hard, in the hills, in the yard
In the sand, in the dirt, an’ in pain
She’ll buck due to leavin’, she’ll buck for no reason
She’ll buck in the wind and the rain.

She’ll buck if she’s way up ahead, in the lead,
She’ll buck if she’s way back behind
So why in the H#@* do I still ride that mare?
Has the buckin’ plumb damaged my mind?

After mulling some over that question there…
…As I’ve thought back on each incident…
“I see it weren’t buckin’ that damaged my mind…
But the way I was pile drived and bent.

© 2008, Victoria Boyd
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Victoria told us, "Yeah, that’s my little bay mare. And she’s all that and more! Everyone is always telling me how cute and sweet she is. I’m always wanting to explain to folks what I’ve been thru with her, that she isn’t really a sweet little quiet horse….that looks are deceiving. But after 11 years together she’s much better and I do love her. I even forgive her for my sprained/ arthritic neck that I landed on years ago."



Read Victoria Boyd's

The Cowboy Dance in Art Spur



The Christmas Tree in Art Spur


Scopin’ the Bosque in Art Spur


Weekend Cowboy Heading Home in Art Spur


Bling! Bling! in  Art Spur




About Victoria Boyd:

I live in Wilton, California...a rural community. We have a small cow/calf operation, seven ranch horses—three of which are adopted and trained wild mustangs (I'm the mustanger), free range chickens and the colorful assortment of barn cats.  Sorry to say we're between ranch dogs...due to old age...theirs, not ours.

I discovered I liked writing cowboy poetry about 9 years ago and mostly I write about real life experiences.   I find  humor in most everything and embellish where I don't!

I studied Creative Writing in college and being surrounded by critters, kids, grandkids and a cowboy (businessman) husband I have more than my share of experiences to write about.

Victoria and her grandkids

I've performed at open mic sessions in Elko, Nevada at the National Cowboy Poetry Gatherings, have been published in Western Horseman twice and regularly perform my cowboy poetry at local brandings.

Friends and Parelli partners Victoria Boyd and Sharon Gonzales


Victoria shared more of her photography with us:

Victoria and Tank






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