Just for fun--The Jackalope

www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com

Since day one, people have told stories of adventures, hard times, frightening experiences, joyous events, and everyday life. Some are true, others, slightly exaggerated, and some complete tall tales. The most interesting ones were remembered and repeated, over and over, until, even if they had been true at one time, alterations may have turned them into unbelievable accounts that then became legends, folklore, or myths. 

Such one is the jackalope. This is a statue of one at Wall Drug in South Dakota. 

  When hubby and I took a trip through the Dakotas, Montana, and Wyoming we came across numerous advertisements for jackalopes. The Jackalope Capital of the World. Jackalope Country. Jackalope Hunting Season—which requires a license. The hunter cannot have an IQ higher than 72 and can only hunt on June 31^st between the hours of midnight and 2:00 AM. 

LEGEND has it, John Colter, one of the first white men to enter Wyoming Territory, claimed to have spotted a jackalope. The animal was said to be vicious, and could mimic any sound it heard. Later, as cowboys gathered around campfires at night singing songs, they swore to have heard jackalopes repeating the words to the songs. They also claimed the easiest way to catch a jackalope was to set out a flask of whiskey. The jackalope would drink its fill, and then slow, because of its intoxication, the critters could be caught.

The legend of jackalopes continued into the 20^th century. Around 1930 two brothers, having studied taxidermy, went hunting one day. Upon returning home, one brother tossed a jack rabbit on the floor. The carcass came to rest next to a set of deer horns. A short time later, the brothers sold the first stuffed jackalope for $10 to the owner of a Douglas, Wyoming hotel. The jackalope proudly hung there until 1977 when it was stolen. 

The jackalope isn’t unique to America. There are similar critters (rabbits with horns) in Germany—a wolperdinger, and in Sweden—a skvader. (Just a side note, jackalopes have been spotted in many states besides Wyoming.)

Actual illustrations of rabbits with horns go back to the 16^th century. Papillomatosis, also known as jackalopism, is a disease which causes parasitic growths, sometimes resembling horns, on the heads of rabbits.

Legend, folklore, or truth, that’s the jackalope tale.

Although there are no jackalopes in my May 1st release, A Fortune for the Outlaw's Daughter, it does have a Macaw in it--an odd bird for Alaska.  I'll be giving away a few advance copies over on my Facebook author page this month, so 'hop' on over for your chance to win one.

Jumpin' Jackrabbits - by @JacquieRogers

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Jumpin’ Jackrabbits

by Jacquie Rogers

Jackrabbits are ubiquitous all throughout central and western North America, but they’re not rabbits—they’re hares. Hares stand taller than rabbits and are generally more sleek, with quite long ears. Originally, they were called “jackass rabbits” because of their ears (Mark Twain used this reference in Roughing It) and eventually that was shortened to jackrabbit.

Jim Harper – Wikipedia Commons

Females are called does, males are bucks, and babies are kits. There are five species, the most common being the black-tailed and the white-tailed. They’re speedy little devils and can run 40 miles per hour. They can jump ten feet.

Jackrabbits are essential to the food chain. They’re a prey animal, but the predator has to be pretty wily (and fast) to catch them. Wolves, coyotes, and badgers are their main enemies.

They’re herbivores, and eat a lot, have been known to wipe out entire crops; hence, Old West farmers considered them varmints and often kill them to keep the population down. Jackrabbits also provided a lot of meat for the stew pot, especially in lean times. So whether a blessing or a curse, jackrabbits do what jackrabbits do.

And what they do is multiply. Does can birth several litters of kits each year (gestation is 42 days), and a litter can have one to seven kits. The kits can hop within minutes of birth and their eyes are open, unlike rabbits. Camouflage is their friend and they instinctively freeze when danger is near. Unlike other mammals, the kits don’t need constant nursing, and the doe usually only feeds them at dawn and dusk. They don’t dig dens, but make nests in the grasses and bushes.

White-tailed jackrabbits are also prevalent in Owyhee County, where my Hearts of Owyhee series is set. They, as all jackrabbits, are nocturnal and stay in their nests during the day, emerging to feed at night. An adult jackrabbit can eat a pound of grasses and vegetation a day, which would be the equivalent of a 120-pound person eating 20 pounds of food a day. That is why they’re considered a nuisance.

Wikipedia Commons – Connormah

Who knows... jackrabbits just may show up in my next book, Much Ado About Mustangs, Hearts of Owyhee #5.  I'll never tell.

Hearts of Owyhee

Much Ado About Madams

Much Ado About Marshals

Much Ado About Miners

Much Ado About Mavericks

coming soon:

Much Ado About Mustangs

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Handkerchief, Wild Rag, Bandana? Just What Is That Thing Around Your Neck?

 

What's That Around Your Neck, Pardner? 

A look at one of the most important items in a cowboy's gear. 

By Christina Cole

If you've ever watched a western -- and I'm guessing you probably have -- you've seen cowboys with kerchiefs. Maybe you've called them scarves, or bandanas. They go by a lot of different names, but one thing is certain. No real cowboy would work without one. 

When I think of bandanas -- which is what I've always called them -- the first image that comes to my mind is the rustler, robber, or the "bad guy" in the old western movies. You know. The one wearing the black hat. 

But then, I think, too, of cowboys on cattle drives. I think of the dust and dirt, and I realize the good guys often wore their bandanas pulled up over their faces, as well. 

Hiding one's face, or keeping out trail dust aren't the only ways a kerchief can be used, though. Of all the items a cowboy might own, wear, or keep close at hand, nothing serves more purposes than that ubiquitous piece of square cloth.

A surprising fact I learned as I was gathering information about bandanas, kerchiefs -- whatever you wish to call them -- is that unlike the cheap neckerchiefs I've picked up at local stores, usually dark blue or bright red with fancy western designs --- real ones are usually made of silk, not cotton.  Real silk is an extremely absorbent fiber which draws moisture away from the skin. It's also warmer than wool for winter wear. A good neck rag usually measures at least 30" x 30" square. You'll see them in a wide variety of colors and patterns.

In cold climes, the primary purpose of a "neck rag" or "wild rag" as they're often known, is to keep cold air away from the neck. The scarf is wrapped loosely around the neck and tucked into the collar. A cowboy's scarf -- by the way -- is NEVER knotted while he's working. He might tie his neck rag into a fancy knot for a shindig or barn dance, but a knot could spell big trouble if a cowboy got himself "hung up" while working. A hard knot won't loosen easily and a man could choke to death from a knotted rag.

So, we know they're warm around the neck, they keep out dirt and dust, and yes, a fellow can pull one up over his face to hide his identity. But that's only the beginning. A kerchief can be used in more ways then you've probably ever considered. 

A cowboy can use a "wild rag" to:

• Tie down his hat to keep his ears warm on a cold morning
• Spread out for a tablecloth at mealtime
• Serve as a napkin under his chin when eating
• Carry water to his horse
• Use it as a filter for drinking from a stream
• Clean his revolver
• Wipe his face 
• Wrap around his leg if his boot is chafing him
• Protect the back of his neck from sunburn
• Shoo away mosquitos
• Tie up a sore hand or arm
• Leave on a bush as a marker or sign
• Wrap up a small critter
• Wave to others as a signal
• Carry his grub
• Carry firewood
• Gather fruit
• Hold the handle of a hot pan
• Serve as a splint for a broken limb
• Wrap around his hands on a cold day
• Catch a fish
• Shine his boots
• Dry dishes
• Spread across his lap for his best girl to sit on

And, if the need arises, he can even use it to blow his nose. 

Bandana. Handkerchief. Neck Rag. Wild Rag. Kerchief. Buckaroo Scarf.  I guess it really doesn't matter what you call it, but if you're planning to head west to do any roping, riding, rustling, ranching, or robbing, you might want to stock up on those handy squares of silk. 

Texas Hardships in the 1860s by Kathleen Ball

Texas Hardships 1860s by Kathleen Ball

I often scour the bookstores for Texas History and I came across a gem. The Captured by Scott Zesch. It’s a true story of abduction by the Indians on the frontier. I’m still in the process of reading it but what struck me was his description of the living conditions of the pioneers, ranchers, and homesteaders.

He explains how Pop Culture, western movies, and series elevated the living standards of the settlers on the Texas frontier during the 1860s. For example in John Ford’s The Searchers the family lives in a multi-roomed house with wooden floors and glass windows. They ate off china laden with food and their clothes were clean and barely worn.

During his research, he found the following to be true:

“A typical house in Castille Texas during the 1860s would have looked nothing like that. The immigrants’ dwellings were crude log cabins of one or two rooms. The walls never quite fended off the strong gales of a winter norther; however, they did manage to trap the one-hundred-plus degree of heat of August. The floors were hard-packed dirt. No matter how many times a housewife swept them, they didn’t seem clean. The thatched roofs leaked. The windows had no screens or glass, only shutters. During the daytime, a person could either leave them open and risk an invasion of grasshoppers, wasps, and mosquitoes, or close them and seat in dark rooms.”

The author goes on to describe the food conditions:

“They didn’t do much canning or preserving to store food for the winter because they didn’t have any jars. They rarely got wheat flour for bread and they were desperate for corn. Anytime U.S. soldiers camped nearby, the locals scoured the ground afterward for corn their horses might have left uneaten.”

Here is his description of the children:

“The kids had no shoes. Their feet and arms itched from frequent brushes with stinging nettle, cat’s-claw, and thistles. As they went about their work they had to watch out for diamondback rattlesnakes along the sandstone ledges and cottonmouth moccasins in the river bottom.”

Things got worse during the Civil War. It’s surprising so many lived. There were Indian raids because the soldiers all left to fight in the war. Why didn’t they just leave? They couldn’t afford to move. The book is mainly about non-Indian children being captured and how most didn’t want to return. I found the living conditions fascinating. I have done my share of research but in the back of my mind, the conditions weren’t even close to the truth.

The book is The Captured by Scott Zesch. Copyright 2004 by Scott Zesch

Sexy Cowboys and the women who love them...

Finalist in the 2012 RONE Awards.

Top Pick, Five Star Series from the Romance Review.

Kathleen Ball writes contemporary western romance with great emotion and memorable characters.

Her books are award winners and have appeared on best sellers lists including

Amazon's Best Sellers List, All Romance Ebooks, Bookstrand, Desert Breeze Publishing and

Secret Cravings Publishing Best Sellers list. She is the recipient of eight Editor's Choice

Awards, and The Readers' Choice Award for Ryelee's Cowboy.

There's something about a cowboy...

Http://www.kathleenballromance.com 

The Sport of Kings...in old west Montana

By: Peggy L Henderson

When I’m not writing about mountain men in the Tetons and time travels to Yellowstone National Park, I write about time traveling cowboys. My books are almost always set primarily in Montana, (unless the story takes my characters along the Oregon Trail), and my “cowboys” aren’t really cowboys, but horsemen. I know a little about raising cattle from my years in pre-vet school, but my love and interest lies with equines, not bovines. So, I usually apply the old “write what you know” adage to my books, and my heroes and heroines end up being superb horsemen and horsewomen.

In my teenage years, I fell in love with thoroughbred horse racing, also called The Sport of Kings, from its European origins. I spent my early teen years memorizing the names of every Kentucky Derby winner, researching pedigrees of famous horses past and present, and even writing stories about race horses (which will never see the light of day).

For my latest book, the first in a series of historical western romances (no time travel in these), I once again went with my love of horses to weave a story. My intent was to rewrite an unfinished old manuscript that I had written as a contemporary romance set in Kentucky, and turn it into a historical western romance set in Montana.

My first dilemma was that a main part of the story was about the business of breeding thoroughbred racehorses. I had a vague idea that, yes, people undoubtedly raced horses in Montana in the old west, but did they breed blue-blooded thoroughbreds during a time when prospectors were digging for gold, and Montana wasn’t yet a state? 

I did what every good writer will do – research. And to my surprise and delight, I found out that Montana has a rich history in horse racing. 

The Native Americans who lived in the area that is now Montana first acquired horses in the 1700’s, and racing them was a common sport. The first thoroughbred thought to have been brought to Montana was a Kentucky-bred stallion named Billy Bay. He was supposedly brought to the territory by Blackfeet Indians. A trader by the name of Malcolm Clarke owned the horse for a time, racing him in inter-tribal races. Clarke had been married to a Peigan Blackfoot woman, and most likely acquired the horse through his in-laws. 

When gold was discovered in Montana in the 1860’s, horse racing quickly became a popular sport among the miners. Races in the streets of the mining camps were common. If someone owned a fast horse, he’d travel around to different mining camps, looking to race his animal and make bets. 

The area around Deer Lodge, Montana, became a popular area for breeding horses intent for racing. Several large stables and ranches sprung up, owned by rich investors and bankers. 

When racetracks were built in the larger cities of Helena and Anaconda, it put Montana on the racing map. The construction of the Lewis and Clark County Fairgrounds and the territorial fairs in Helena brought sizeable purses and the first organized races. 

The Kentucky Derby is the premiere horse race in America, run on the first Saturday in May each year at Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky. It is a race for three-year-old thoroughbreds. When it was first run in 1875, the Derby was 1 ½ miles long (it has been shortened to 1 ¼ miles). In 1889, a Montana-bred colt by the name of Spokane won the Kentucky Derby, by a “flaming nostril,” setting a new race record for the 1 ½ miles. 1889 is also the year that Montana became a state. It was said that the chestnut colt received more attention for his victory in the Derby than news that Montana had been granted statehood.

Blurb from IN HIS EYES (Blemished Brides Book 1), coming Jan 27, 2015

 

Carefree and strong-willed, Katherine Montgomery is the daughter of a successful Montana horse rancher. When a tragic accident claims her father’s life, Katherine is left to deal with an overbearing mother whose agenda does not include a young daughter. Fate deals her another devastating blow, leaving her to face an uncertain future far away from everything and everyone she’s loved. 

Trace Hawley used to push the limits of the law, and no one was going to plan his future for him. The death of the man who always had his back leaves him to finally face responsibility. The promises he made a decade ago have shaped him into the man he is today, and will bring him face to face with the one girl from his past he always tried to avoid. 

After a ten year absence, Katherine returns to the ranch she once loved to discover the shocking reason her mother summoned her home. Surprised to find Trace still at the ranch, her childhood infatuation grows into something far stronger as he challenges her to lead the life she once wanted, but seems to have forgotten. When Katherine is forced to make a choice between saving her father’s dreams or following her own, Trace might be the only one who holds the key to both.

EXCERPT

Deer Lodge, Montana Territory 1886

Trace Hawley pulled his hat from his head. He paced the boardwalk in front of the telegraph and post office. Running a hand through his hair, he peered through the window at the clock that hung on the wall behind the counter. He frowned. The stage was late.

Harley Wilson, the post master, glanced up from behind his thick spectacles. He stood, and walked around the counter, then opened the door and stepped outside.

The balding man shot Trace an indulgent smile, and pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket. He flipped it open, and nodded. “I’d say another twenty minutes. Stage is never on time.” 

Trace scoffed. He should have figured coming into town would eat up his entire day. Why the hell had he allowed his sister, Sally, to talk him into the trip in the first place? Their boss, Chantal Sinclair, had a personal servant who could have driven into town, but the man had apparently become ill today, according to Sally.

More like hung over. 

Trace shook his head. That woman could drive any man to drink. Annoyance shot through him, and he gnashed his teeth. He should be grateful that the overbearing female hadn’t insisted that she come along.

Why the hell were his nerves on edge about being here to meet the stage? Neither Chantal Sinclair’s demands, nor Sally’s pestering, had ever bothered him before. 

You wanted to be the one to meet the stage.

 Yeah, he’d wanted to come, out of curiosity. He could have easily told Mrs. Sinclair to send someone else, that he was too busy. As foreman of the Red Cliff Ranch, he could have delegated the job to one of the hired hands. 

Harley cocked his head at Trace. “Must be something mighty important coming in on that stage to make you wear a path clean through these here floor boards. You waitin’ on a letter from them high-falutin’ horse breeders from back east?”

 “I ain’t expecting anything from Kentucky,” Trace said when Harley looked at him with raised brows.

“You still got plans to go to that fancy horse race they put on out there?” Harley asked, and twirled the curly end of his mustache between his thumb and index finger.

“If all goes the way I hope, I plan to be there in three years,” Trace said, and a smile passed over his lips. He didn’t conceal the confidence in his voice. He would be in Kentucky with a colt he’d bred, and show those blue bloods that a horse didn’t have to be foaled in the east to run with the best of them.

“Well, I wish you luck, son.” Harley slapped him on the back. “Wouldn’t that be something, to have a homegrown colt beat them fancy thoroughbreds they’ve got.”

Trace’s lips widened. “Yeah, Harley, it sure would be something.” 

His smile faded, and he glanced at the dust on his worn boots. John Montgomery would have been proud, and so would his own father. Breeding a Derby winner was one promise he’d made to John that he planned to keep, even if he’d only been a wet-nosed kid at the time, and made that vow out of arrogance. 

Maybe if he made good on that promise, the fine citizens of Deer Lodge would look at him differently, rather than whisper behind his back. As if he didn’t notice. But, as far as that other promise was concerned . . . 

Peggy L Henderson is a laboratory technologist by night, and best-selling western historical and time travel romance author of the Yellowstone Romance Series, Second Chances Time Travel Romance Series, and Teton Romance Trilogy. When she’s not writing about Yellowstone, the Tetons, or the old west, she’s out hiking the trails, spending time with her family and pets, or catching up on much-needed sleep. She is happily married to her high school sweetheart. Along with her husband and two sons, she makes her home in Southern California. 

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Two of my Favorite Television Cowboys

When I was young, Sunday afternoon television instilled in me a great love for old Hollywood musicals and westerns. While Gene Kelly danced his way across the screen, John Wayne rode horses and frequently sparred with Maureen O’Hara. To this day, Gene Kelly is still my favorite male dancer, and John Wayne… his grit and swagger find their way into some of the characters I create. To me, he is the ultimate cowboy. Running a close second to him are Peter Breck and Cameron Mitchell.    

Joseph Peter Breck was born on March 13, 1929 in Haverhill, Massachusetts. He is best known for playing Nick Barkley on The Big Valley. Breck’s father was a jazz musician who played with legends such as Fats Waller and Billie Holiday. As a child, Breck often traveled with his parents until they decided he needed a more stable home life and sent him to live with his grandparents. During this time, his parent divorced and he went to live with his mother in Rochester. She later married Al Weber, the sports writer for the Rochester Times Union.         

Upon graduating high school, Breck enlisted in the Navy. After his tour, he moved to Houston and centered his attention on education. He enrolled in the University of Houston and studied drama and English. It was there he got his start in acting, performing at Houston’s Alley Theatre. Stalag 17 was one of the productions he appeared in before moving to Washington D.C.’s theater district. Actor Robert Mitchum discovered Breck in the stage production of George Bernard Shaw’s The Man of Destiny and cast him in an unbilled role in the film, Thunder Road. Mitchum later brought Breck to Hollywood and helped to launch Breck’s acting career.

Breck appeared in several movies, portraying a variety of characters, before being cast to play Nick Barkley in 1965. The Big Valley is where I know Breck best, as I loved his character. Tall, dark and handsome, Nick Barkley was rough around the edges and had a warm heart. He could ride, rope and shoot, was quick to lose his temper and throw his fists, but at the end of the day, family and honesty mattered most to him. As with John Wayne, I model a lot of my cowboys after Nick Barkley.

Breck later moved to Canada with his wife and son. He founded an acting academy in Vancouver, The Breck Academy, and managed it for ten years. Sadly, his son died at a young age after suffering a long bout with acute myeloid leukemia. Breck laid low after the tragedy, but eventually went on to guest star on several television shows. He died on February 6, 2012 from dementia. I will always remember him as Nick Barkley, the rough-and-tumble, sweet-as-pie cowboy from my childhood.

    

  

Cameron McDowell Mitzell was born November 4, 1918 in Dallastown, Pennsylvania. (He later changed his name to Cameron Mitchell at actress Lynn Fontanne’s urging.) Mitchell is the 4^th of seven children. His father and mother were both ministers of the Reformed Lutheran Church. Several other men in his family were also ministers, and Mitchell’s father hoped Cameron would follow the same path, but early on Cameron had a love for acting. With the help of a high school teacher, he enrolled in a New York City dramatic school. During his time in the city, he held a variety of jobs while acting on Broadway and writing letters to producers, agents and other actors to further his career. It wasn’t until he criticized a performance of Alfred Hunt did he receive a reply from Hunt offering him an audition.

Mitchell served in World War II as an Air Force bombardier. He made his film debut in 1945, appearing in What Next, Corporal Hargrove? Afterward, he continued with stage and film, gaining recognition twice for his portrayal of Happy in the stage and screen productions of Death of A Salesman. Mitchell continued with roles in westerns, establishing himself as a character actor. He met producer David Dohort when Dohort produced one of Mitchell’s first short-lived television series.  Later on, when Dohort was casting for High Chaparral, his first choice to play Buck Cannon was Cameron Mitchell.        

As with Peter Breck’s Nick Barkley, Buck Cannon became Mitchell’s signature role. This is where I know Mitchell best. His portrayal of Uncle Buck captivated me at a young age. Buck was strong, determined, loyal to family and funny. I model some of Buck’s grit and humor in my own writing.

Mitchell’s love for acting wasn’t his only love. He also had a love for golf, traveling and gambling on the dogs, though by his own words he didn’t gamble often. He loved golf too much for that. Married three times, he sometimes found himself broke, even though, according to him, he made 1,000’s from residuals. Mitchell passed away on July 6, 1994. He was survived by his children and grandchildren, some of which have found their way into acting. To me, he will always be Uncle Buck, that larger-than-life figure on the television screen.