Slim, A Cow Dog

The best stock dog I ever saw was owned by Wayne "Cowboy" Barrett of Montalba, Texas. His breeding wasn’t much to brag about and his looks were worse. His mother was a half catahoula leopard and half black and tan hound and from the look of him his sire was something kin to a giraffe and airdale mix. He was about the ugliest dog you ever saw and we called him slim.

His disposition was downright mean. He didn’t like anything or anybody when he wasn’t working. When he wasn’t chasing cows, he was unhappy and when he was, he was fairly happy. He allowed no human hands on him but minded perfectly and would work on motion or command. Slim could almost read your mind.

A widow lady was having trouble with a brahma bull her deceased husband had left her and hired several cowboys to catch him, so that she could sell him. However, their attempts were futile.

One night she called me for help. I told her if I could get Cowboy Barrett to help me I’d see her right early next morning. Cowboy was ready and waiting next morning and we were on our way to the widow’s a little before daybreak with our horses and dogs in back of the truck. During the ride Cowboy said he wanted to buy that bull before we caught him.

As we drove up in the widow’s yard, she came out on the front porch to greet us. One thing led to another and we could tell she didn’t have much confidence in out ability. Cowboy asked, "What would you take for the bull in the pasture as is?"

"Well," she said, "Henry Eames offered me$150 for him if I’d pen him in."

Cowboy wanted to be kind to the widow and knowing full well that the bull was worth more that Henry Eames had offered her, said, "Well Ma’am, I’ll give you $150 right this minute and we’ll pen him for nothing!"

That sure suited her. Cowboy borrowed the $150 from me and paid her off.

We turned the dogs loose and it wasn’t long before Gyp, Bell, Slim and another dog opened up. We minded our horses and started down a hill to the pasture. Up about mid-morning the dogs bayed the old bull in the worst thicket in Brushy Creek bottom.

To get up to the bull I had to crawl in to him. It was impossible to pitch a loop and I did the next best thing. I hissed the dogs and while they took the bull’s attention off me, I made a loop with a long stick laid it out as close to the bull as possible. After tying the ignorant end to a sapling, I called the dogs off. Now, the ignorance end was the end I was holding.

The bull switched, turned rand at me, backed up, and acted smart in general. He finally stepped into the loop with one leg. When I pulled the rope, that loop tightened on his leg and he took off running. The last time I saw him he was crashing through vines and brush with a sapling tied to him. When he reached the end of that nylon rope, he had so much momentum, he just uprooted that little tree and took it with him.

Away we went with the dogs on his tail and we ran that bull all the rest of that day. The dogs had all quit except old Slim. He would bay the bull and sit on his hunkers with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth looking at us as we rode up as if to ask, "Aren’t you dummies ever going to get a rope on that bull?"