The Mother Who Heeled For Her Boy

The Run

The gate banged open. The brown steer broke out straight down the middle, low and fast, and Colt’s sorrel left the box clean, right behind the barrier.

Colt swung twice and threw. His loop went around both horns like he had been doing it for twenty years. He took his dally and set the steer and turned him off to the left, smooth, so the hind end swung around and came my way.

Pepper had already left the box. She rated in behind that steer like she was nineteen going on six. She put me right in the hole where the hind feet were going to be.

I swung. I do not remember throwing. I have tried and I cannot.

I remember the rope coming tight. I remember looking down and seeing two hind feet in my loop. I remember my dally going around the horn, and I remember Pepper sitting down hard in the soft dirt, her hind end nearly to the ground, and Colt turning his sorrel to face us with the steer stretched between.

The flagger dropped his flag. It was a hot sunny afternoon and I could see the dust hanging in the light above us.

“Eight-point-nine seconds,” the announcer said.

There was a quiet for half a breath, and then the grandstand came up. Not wild. Just warm. Ranch people clapping the way they clap for a good run.

And then the announcer said, softer, into the microphone, “That’s a mother and her boy, folks. Fifteen years since Trish has backed into that box. Welcome back.”

Down at the fence, one of the old ropers slapped the top pipe rail twice with his flat hand. His name is Philo. He is eighty-one years old and he roped with my daddy.

Waiting

We rode out of the arena. I could not feel my hands. Colt rode beside me, and neither of us said a word, because there were still three teams to go.

A nine-point-six was the best time before us. Ours was eight-point-nine. That is not a lot of daylight in a county roping. Any one of those last three teams could have beaten us with a good clean run.

Team ten got a leg. Team eleven broke the barrier and still went nine-point-four, which with the penalty was nineteen and change.

Team twelve was two brothers from the north end of the county, good ropers. Their header caught. Their heeler came in and threw a pretty loop, and it looked like it was going to be close.

Then the steer kicked out of it. No time.

The announcer said, “Folks, that’s your team roping. Your winners, with an eight-point-nine, Colt and Trish Kolb.”