Posts Tagged Flay Randolph

No Sir, I Ain’t No Cowboy

Long before I worked at Roger Robideaux’s Gulf station where I used to shoot the breeze with a couple of real cowboys—Tom Cox, and James Caan—I found out I was not cut out to be one.

Oh, I had heroes like John Wayne, Marshall Matt Dillon, Rowdy Yates, and so on, but I learned the hard way that being a cowboy wasn’t as easy as it looked on TV. I learned this when I was about eleven or twelve years old. We used to go to Flay Randolph’s ranch just outside of Buckeye, and he’d saddle up a horse, and let us take turns riding it in the alfalfa field

On one of those visits I was riding in the pasture, where some steers—not very big ones—were grazing. The saddle Flay had put on the horse for me had a lariat hanging on the side, by the saddle horn, so I figured I might as well try my hand at calf roping. I’d seen Rowdy and the boys do it on Rawhide, and it didn’t look too hard.

calf roperSo, I took the rope off the saddle and got it ready, then rode up alongside one of the steers. The steer didn’t seem to notice I was there, so I just dropped the rope over its head; piece a cake. One problem: The steer didn’t like it at all, and it took off running across the pasture.

No problem, I thought, as I grabbed onto the rope and yanked back like I’d seen them do on TV. Next thing I know, I’m air born, then skidding along the ground learning what alfalfa tastes like. I finally let go of the rope, and after I’d recovered a bit, limped over to the house and told Flay what I’d done.

When he finally quit laughing, Flay saddled up another horse and with me riding behind him, went out to retrieve his rope and my horse. Horse and steer were grazing side-by-side when we arrived. After I jumped down off the horse, Flay dropped his lasso over the steers head and—of course—it ran off again. But, to my amazement, it stopped abruptly when it got to the end of the rope. I followed the taught line of the rope back to Flay’s horse and saw that the other end of the rope was tied to the saddle horn. Flay just grinned and said, “Go git your horse, cowboy.”

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Wondering how I knew James Caan? Click on this link: Working With James Caan

And, if you’re curious who Roger Robideaux is, click on this one: Don’t Do That!

Tom Cox? Shoot… everybody knows who Tom is!

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Yippee-ki-yay…

In my story, Bull Riding Fools, I tell about how we used to go out to Flay Randolph’s ranch, sit on the corral fence,  and jump on the backs of yearlings as they would walk by. We would also get to ride Flay’s horses, and that was a blast. In spite of the fact the little town we lived in—Buckeye, Arizona—was surrounded by farms and ranches, we were still pretty much city kids. Visiting Flay and Irene Randolph just outside of town was a real treat. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (2)

Bull Riding Fools!

Yep, yep, yep, rode me a few back in the day. Can you say LOL! Not this guy! I like to talk about how I ain’t afraid of much of nothing, but getting on the back of an angry two ton beast is not what I call brave. I call it asking for big trouble. I’ve done some crazy stuff, but riding a bull is not one of them. I might try one of those in a bar, where there’s a padded floor to land on…. maybe. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (8)

Not So Quick On The Draw!

In another story, Quick Draw, I told how Flay Randolph had a holster mounted to the side of his pickup seat, and had mastered the quick draw with it. He scared the heck out of me one time when a coyote walked out onto the road ahead of us. Flay was out of the pickup and firing at the coyote before I had time to register it was there. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (4)

Quick Draw!

One of my most unforgettable characters is Flay Randolph. He still lives in Buckeye, Arizona, though he must be older than the sand by now. But what a great guy; he’s like an uncle to me, and his wife, Irene is a jewel, as well. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (3)

Yippee-ki-yay…

In my story, Bull Riding Fools, I tell about how we used to go out to Flay Randolph’s ranch, sit on the corral fence,  and jump on the backs of yearlings as they would walk by. We would also get to ride Flay’s horses, and that was a blast. In spite of the fact the little town we lived in—Buckeye, Arizona—was surrounded by farms and ranches, we were still pretty much city kids. Visiting Flay and Irene Randolph just outside of town was a real treat. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (5)

Bull Riding Fools!

Yep, yep, yep, rode me a few back in the day. Can you say LOL! Not this guy! I like to talk about how I ain’t afraid of much of nothing, but getting on the back of an angry two ton beast is not what I call brave. I call it asking for big trouble. I’ve done some crazy stuff, but riding a bull is not one of them. I might try one of those in a bar, where there’s a padded floor to land on…. maybe. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (2)

Not So Quick On The Draw

In another story, Quick Draw, I told how Flay Randolph had a holster mounted to the  side of his pickup seat, and had mastered the quick draw use of it. He scared the heck out of me one time when a coyote walked out onto the road ahead of us. Flay was out of the pickup and firing at the coyote before I had time to register it was there. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (7)

Quick Draw!

One of my most unforgettable characters is Flay Randolph. He still lives in Buckeye, Arizona, though he must be older than the sand by now. But what a great guy; he’s like an uncle to me, and his wife, Irene is a jewel, as well.

I worked on a hay farm Flay was managing when I was just out of high school. It was a huge farm, and I did everything imaginable and drove every kind of farm machine there was to drive that had anything to do with hay. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (4)