One of the first places that I ever took my wife to when I brought her back to the United States was to my uncle’s ranch in North Dakota. As it turned out, my uncle and my cousins were conducting a cattle roundup the day I traveled to their ranch. For the first half hour or so, we sat in the farmhouse and chatted so that my aunt and uncle could become familiar with my wife and daughter. Then my uncle asked me if I wanted to help him and the boys with the cattle roundup. My aunt told me to go on ahead with the boys and she would take good care of my wife and daughter while we were gone. Since my wife was getting along pretty well with my aunt, I thought that might be all right. My hope was that my wife would learn a little bit about country living and cooking American country style dinners. My aunt was a pretty good cook, after all. My hope was that she could teach my wife some American cooking. My wife was a great cook already, so learning some American cooking would really help. And I really hoped that she would enjoy being around a country setting while I was out chasing cattle. My uncle asked me which type of conveyance I would prefer to use to chase cattle. He essentially gave me two choices: horse or dirt bike. I asked him what type of dirt bike he had in mind. One of my cousins, Victor, took me over to a shed and showed me three Yamaha Yz 250 dirt bikes. He told me to pick one. I chose the green one. Victor also chose a dirt bike. The others chose to ride horses. Victor thought a lot like I did. He believed that you could never really trust or control a horse. Can I get an amen? Let me tell you something. The very first time I ever got on a horse when I was just a kid, that sonofabitch bucked and jumped and threw me right the hell off. When I hit the ground, it hurt like hell. Of course, it didn’t help that my old man had slapped that old nag on the ass right as I got on it. I’m pretty damn sure that slap had a lot to do with that goddamn horse bucking and jumping the way it did. But ever since that day, I don’t sit my ass down on a horse for nobody. Hell no. John Wayne and his buddies all be damned. It’s like this, if a dirt bike dumps and spills my ass into the dirt, it’s my damn fault. But the bike ain’t just going to start bucking and jumping and throw my ass into the dirt just because. Oh hell no. That shit ain’t happening. But a goddamn horse, there ain’t no telling what that goddamn critter is going to do. Those sons of bitches got minds of their got-damn own. And I remember that day way back when that horse threw me into the dirt. The famous last words before I got on that old nag were, “This here horse is one fine horse. It’s very gentle and easy to ride.” Easy to ride my ass. That sonofabitch acted like it had a thorn up its ass. Anyway, my cousin Victor and I chased all the stray cattle on the periphery of the herd during the day because we had the two most maneuverable conveyances. We had the dirt bikes. I handled the left side of the herd and Victor handled the right side of the herd. We reined in the strays on either side of the herd. My other cousins and my uncle kept the main herd moving forward toward the corral. When we finally had the herd rounded up into the corral, we had to brand and separate the yearling calves. Next, we had to castrate all of the calves that we were going to put out to pasture as feeder steers for the fall market. My uncle walked up to me and said, “Wright, what do you think? Do you reckon we ought to have a mountain oyster fry?” I looked at my uncle because I couldn’t tell if he was pulling my leg or not, and replied, “Well, we certainly have everything we need, including the oysters. I reckon we should. I ain’t had no mountain oysters since I was a kid.” “It’s settled then. We’ll have us a good old fashion mountain oyster fry. Boys, go tell your mom to come out and start a fire.” My cousins went running to the house to tell my aunt that we were having a mountain oyster fry. My aunt came out and asked my uncle if he was serious. He said yes. He asked, “What else were you going to prepare for dinner?” My aunt replied, “We have all of the side dishes done. We were waiting to prepare the meat until you boys got home. We can cook up some hotdogs and hamburgers to go along with the mountain oysters.” My wife heard the word oysters and was kind of surprised. She asked me, “Do you actually have oysters in North Dakota?” I looked at her and replied, “They’re not that kind of oyster.” “What do you mean?” “Well, North Dakota doesn’t exactly have an ocean, so it doesn’t exactly have oysters. These oysters came from the cattle.” “What?!?” “That’s right. They came from the cattle. See, they are cow’s balls. You know. Balls.” “You mean like a man’s chaji kong?” “Yes. Like that.” “What?!? You eat that?” “Well, yeah. But you gotta admit, you eat some rather bizarre shit too.” When she finally realized what mountain oysters were, everybody else burst out laughing. But I have to hand it to my wife, she tried them and liked them. That was her introduction to North Dakota mountain oysters and life on a ranch. But the day wasn’t complete. After dinner, Victor came riding up on a horse and got off near where I was standing. I knew that Victor did not really like horses. Yet, he had ridden up near to me on a horse. He explained that the horse was very gentle. He also mentioned that it was time for me to get over my fear of horses. I said, “You misunderstand, it is not a fear of horses. It is a total distrust of the critters. I don’t trust them because they have their own minds. They do what they damn well please.” Well, with a little coaxing and a little prodding and a lot of daring, they finally convinced me to try riding that horse. So, I climbed up onto the horse, turned it, and slowly started to ride away. I started to ride down the road. As I was riding, things were going along just fine. I thought, “This is going to work out all right.” Man, oh man, was I ever wrong. One of my other cousins, Virgil, came blasting by me on a dirt bike. He was riding like a bat out of hell. He was whooping and hollering at the same time. That horse got seriously spooked, and I got seriously pissed. That horse took off like a streak a-lightning. It took me about a half mile to slow that horse down and turn it around. When I finally got back to the ranch, I grabbed Virgil and lifted him off the ground. While I held him, I said, “I ought to beat the living shit out of you. You deliberately spooked that horse.” Virgil replied, “I am sorry. But I noticed that the horse didn’t throw you. I also noticed that you managed to control it. Good job.” We stayed the night with my aunt and uncle, and we left the next day. All in all, we had a great time, with our cattle roundup and mountain oyster fry even if riding a horse was just another exercise in futility.
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