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Was born in 1924
and raised on an Illinois “corn and hog’ farm” where the farming
power was horses and a goodly portion of the family income was
from breaking and training heavy work horses as well as light
harness and pleasure horses. Here he fed a lot of
hogs, built a lot of fence and milked a lot of cows ----and
----was working and “training” horses from about the age of
ten.
His father died
when he was three years old so his wonderful mother was left with
four little children to care for and to teach the value of hard
work and the spiritual things of life.
As a helicopter
pilot in World War Two he served in the South Pacfic assigned to
the 13th Army Air Corps, 2nd Emergency Rescue
Squadron.
A severe heart
problem in 1987 stopped his active training and horseshoeing but,
with the help of his wife of more than 24 years, he still
keeps somewhat active breeding Quarter Horses,
Longhorn cattle, Rhodesian Ridgeback and Australian Shepherd
dogs.
He is now
spending a large portion of his time writing “Cowboy Poetry” which
he calls his rhyming autobiography.
His wife,
Irma-Ann is an artist and full time art teacher. She illustrates
many of these poems and is a major reason for the
acceptance of his books.
Howdy
Pard
Sorry I seem to have neglected you. I was so sure
that you would have more cattle with strange brands in this
roundup of "Pal's poems" that I figered I'd kinda set on the hill
and see what those guys are doing down there in the draw --- then
ride in as the barbeque started. By the way, you have not told me
how to get to your web site nor the name of it. I sure would
like to visit and I promise to send some of my "stuff" real
soon.
Actually, I was too sick to do much at the computer
for a while -- then all hell broke lose when winter hit our
mounain ranch (which we lovingly call "Whispering Oaks") and I
road along to show my wife how to fix the water leaks that had put
more than an inch of water over the trailer floor. Damned toilet
froze! Single ditget numbers for too many nights with days
in the early thirtys.
Then we put a
new roof on this house and the contractor was amazed that I could
sleeep through their noise. I was just too weak to get
out and watch them do the work. They did a beautiful
job.
In 1973 we built
the house and first barn on a piece of ground that she
inherited. We have never stopped building or rebuilding
; I'll bet you can relate to that. 5 years ago my dr.s told
me to get to lower altitude and closer to emergency help.
This is the smog capital of the world, so both Kelly and I are
being killed off by allergies. Hell, if I'm going to die, I want
to die at home! "with my boots on". So we are starting to
remodel that place and plan to move back next fall. In all of
those years we used either a generator or 12 volt solar power for
whatever electricity we needed. In the past two days I have
met with Edison Co, engineers, a trenching contractor and an
electrician trying to get power to the place. It'll
happen but I coud buy that herd of feeders you are looking for
with what it is going to cost.
I will try to do
all the finish carpentry and cabinet work by myself. Also
some of the new electrical circuits. I'll probably drive the
tractor to droll post holes and lift railroad ties to make new
corrals. All I have to do is to stay alive until I have it
ready for Kelly to retire into for the rest of her
life.
Big, Lean and
Mean
(c) 1998 by Louis A. Carle
Old "Jack" was one
of the meanest mules
I ever harnessed, no
doubt.
The kind of a mule that you ought to
shoot,
But you couldn't do without.
We tied him short
to the manger rail
And built him a narrer
box.
Else you couldn't get near him with
harness
And he's one you can't outfox.
We kept a big
kickrail behind
So's we could stay
alive
And as mean as he was in the
barnstall
He was jist as bad to drive.
His mouth was as
hard as horseshoe iron
So we gimmicked to hold him
in.
There was never a man could muscle him
down
But we never let him win.
With a chain on
his nose and hobbled legs
He'd fight until he's
throwed.
But once he was hitched to the wagon
tongue
He could move a fearsome load.
He always worked
on the off side
Stay-chained to the axle
ring
Then jockey-sticked to the near
horse
At the hinge on the near horse
hame.
The old mare that
worked beside him
Was smart enough to
know
To let Jack tighten the staychain
So's he had to
pull the load.
I don't think I
ever saw him tired
And he never give up
slack.
I never saw him balk or sull
Or quit 'n come
runnin' back.
He was eighteen
hundred pounds of mean
With a Devil's temper to
spare.
Not an ounce of fat, jist muscle 'n
lean
'N a head fulluh "I don't
care!"
I rassled that
mule from plowin' to reap
Then let him stand for
awhile.
And breathed a great big sigh of
releaf
When they hauled him back to hell.
Dear
Friends
This poem is the
first for 1999. It was inspired --- actuually sort of
ordered -- after watching "The Horse Whisperer" New Years
Eve. One of my "foster" daughters said, "Dad, that story
should have been written about you!" Then after a little
conversation, suggested that I tell some of the stories about kids
and horses that I have have been priveledged to put back together
after some kind of trauma -- sometimes problems from the
time of their birth.
My reputation
spread here in Southern California. I probably could have
been killed by some of the horses that were brought to me and I
wept over some of the children - --- and a couple of adults. I
hope to do a series of such stories. Perhaps someone not directly
connected can be helped.
I have nothing
to boast about, God provided me the opportunity to learn from a
true "horse whisperer". It is and will be to him (Vince
Stotlar) that I dedicate this series of poems. Hope you
enjoy them.
Louis A. Carle
The Healing
Hand
(c) 1999 by Louis A. Carle
I remember
derisive laughter
As I worked to relieve the
pain
That was causing the horse
discomfort
From tailhead to base of mane.
The child that
owned the pony
Spent much of each ride at
a run.
I had warned her about what might
happen
And now that time had come.
It seemed that all
of my students,
And, indeed, all my clients
and friends.
Assumed that no matter the
problem
"Mr. Carle could "fix it"or
"mend."
This day she rode
on the mountain
And came off the slope at
full speed
Her pony stumbled and tumbled
She's OK, but her
pony's in need.
She cried as she
told me what happend
"I did what you've said not
to do.
So I led him real slow 'cross the
canyon
He's hurt, so I brought him to
you."
"Please, Mr.
Carle, will you fix him?
I won't make him run, ever
again!
Please give him something to help
him.
I am to blame for this pain".
I helped her
remove the saddle.
Ran my fingers along his
spine.
His pain at one point was
distressing
Under this gentle pressure of
mine.
I gently massaged
the muscles
Bunched where the trauma had been
And applied a hot
pack of saltwater
And gently massaged it
again.
By then a small
crowd had gathered
And I heard more than one
anxious gasp
As I picked up the left
hind and held it.
"what ARE you doing one
asked?"
I didn't take time
to tell them that
As a small lad on the
land
My mentor had shared his wisdom
And the use of
the healing hand.
As I started to
rotate the near leg
The horse began to
complain.
So I stopped and just laid one hand on his
back;
With the other I stroked his mane.
Then to the off
leg - the same routine
'till I felt the little
knot go
There was a "SNAP" so everyone heard
it
I put the foot down, oh so slow.
More hot pack,
more gentle massaging
This time with the heal of
my hand
A little more pressure and
movement
Then I allowed the sweet paint horse to
stand.
After a couple of
minutes
I told the kid "Lead him away."
And said to those
gathered around me
"He's "fixed" and the "fix"
will stay".
T'was then I began
my short lecture
As I had so often
before.
"He's willing to give his life for
you,
Please don't ask him for anything
more."
"When he's hurting
or ill or frightened, share love.
God made him from
from a handfull of sand.
Be quiet and kind and
gentle
And yours,too , can be 'Healing
Hands'".
Reflections At
The Pasture Gate
(c) 1998 by Louis A.
Carle
I spent some time
this morning,
Elbows on the pasture
gate,
Watching broodmares and their babies eating
hay.
And below them in the willow grove
My dogs were
hunting squirrel,
And I thought "I'm thankful
for this brand new day."
My body may be
aging
And my eyes be past their prime.
And I've lost
most of the strength that I once had.
But what takes the "do it"
from me
Gives me time to just reflect
Upon a life that
really wasn't all that bad.
THE COWBOY
BREED
(c) 1997 by Louis A. Carle
"Grandpa, why are
cowboys?"
Well the Good Lord saw a need
And instead of
just another man
He built the cowboy
breed.
Why, when
old Noah built the ARC
He never could have
done
The job of roundin' up the critters
--
Two by two or one by one.
So he hired your
great, great, great
Great, great,
great Uncle Dan
To do the gatherin' for
him
Cause Dan was a top cow-hand.
So Uncle Dan
brought his good stud
That he called Du Sean
Sun
And a little mare called Jody
--
And in no time had it done.
A white faced cow
and a longhorn bull
And a gander and a goose
--
A red hen and a rooster,
Two coyotes and some
moose.
He bushed out all
the critters
And locked 'em in
their stalls
Aboard the ARC that Noah
built,
"Sun" and "Jody" last of all.
Uncle Dan walked
up to Noah
And declared he'd earned his pay
But instead of
thirty shekles
Noah asked the boy to
stay.
Cause there would
be a terrible flood
Man nor beast would not
survive
But the folks and critters on the
arc
Would all be kept alive.
So Uncle Dan had
figured
He was headed for a swim
But now he's bein'
told
That The Great Jehova needed him.
Noah's wife had
brought on board
A country maiden
fair,
A buxom girl with bright blue eyes
And pretty
palimino hair.
This maiden was a
ranch- raised lass
Who would work and do it
all.
From cookin' beans to jerkin'
beef,
Ropin' calves or cleanin' stalls.
She and Dan were
of the cowboy breed
So they became the
pair
And Noah as ship's captain
Married them
right there.
A big ol' Texas
rainstorm
Was startin' to move in
So Dan bed and fed the
livestock
Along with Japeth, Ham and
Shem.
For forty days and
forty nights
They seldom left their
beds
And the whole of earth got flooded
Just like Old
Noah'd said.
When the ground
commenced 'a dryin'
Uncle Dan rode out on
Sun
Aunt Elizabeth rode Old Jody
Cause their work
on board was done.
For pay they took
the Brahman bull
And the calvie White-face
cow
And started north ahuntin' grass
And made this
solemn vow.
To raise their
stock on open range
And tend to their own
need
And to do their best to populate
The world with
the cowboy breed!
So that's why
there are cowboys.
Though it may seem strange
to you,
It's the way that it was told to
me,
So I suppose it's true.
That's
enough for now. If you think that you would want more , as
Jimmy Durante used to say "I've got a million of
'em".
Good luck with the feeders !
The old was been cowboy,
Louis A.
Carle
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