He was the last burro left in the dusty corral. His two
companions had
been sold by the man. They were younger, stronger, and finer
looking even by
burro standards, which are quite high. They were worth more and
brought more
money, which was what the man needed.
Pickin's were slim. Every evening the man would stake the
last burro out
down below the spring to graze. During the day he went with the
man and
packed mud or water or rocks or wood.
One morning the man fed him a small bowl of grain. This
continued for
several days until the morning the man brushed him down, bobbed
his tail and
trimmed his long whiskers. Next thing he knew, the burro was
blanketed and
fitted with a pack saddle. Two panniers were hung over the
frame and a thick
pad was laid between the forks.
The burro watched with his wise burro eyes as the man led the
woman out to
the hitch rail and gently lifted her up on his pack saddle. The
man
shouldered his own pack, picked up his walkin' stick and clucked
to the burro.
The burro was old, but he carried the load as easily as an
old man milks a
goat. From memory...automatic. As he walked down the road he
passed his two
younger, stronger companions. They were hitched to a water
wheel and strained
in their harness as they walked round and round. "Better this
than that,"
thought the last burro.
They walked all day. It was the cool season, his hoofs were
hard as iron.
The woman balanced well.
The second day the woman got off and walked a while. The man
tied his pack
on the saddle and they walked on. As the days went by the woman
got off more
often, and they'd stop to rest for a while.
They arrived in a town late one night. The man went in a
house. The woman
waited. Momentarily the man returned and led the burro around
back to the
stable. The burro was glad to get the saddle off. He was
watered, tied in a
far corner and fed some grass hay.
The burro watched as the man put a blanket in one of the
stalls and laid
the woman down. Time passed. Later in the night the woman
walked out
carrying a man-child and laid him in a hay manger.
The burro slept, as old men do, with one ear cocked. He saw
the sheepmen
come: he heard the singing. He'd heard it before. The burro
had worked the
sheep camps.
Next morning the man fed and watered the burro and left.
While he was gone,
the woman picked up the man-child and brought him to the burro.
She raised
one of his tiny hands and stroked the burro's soft nose. She,
herself, patted
the burro's neck.
On the trip back home the woman and man-child rode on the
burro's back.
As the years went by, the woman would bring the growing
man-child out to
the corral and hold him up or set him on the burro's back. She
would talk
man-talk to the child. And when the burro got too old to work,
the man-child
would come and stroke his nose and give him a handful of grain.
One day the burro could no longer get up. He became
frightened. The woman
and the grown young man came to the corral and held his head in
their laps.
They patted his rough coat and stroked his soft nose.
Eventually, the burro
closed his eyes. He felt a teardrop on his face. It was the
last thing he
ever felt.
shown here by permission of the Author
for more by Baxter Black...the cowboy poet...check out my fun links page.
