At lunch yesterday, I received a call that was a survey checking attitudes about smokeless pouches and vaping. Landi and I were at lunch with friends, so I stepped away from the table to take the survey. It was long and extensive. In our exchanges, I learned a lot about legislation and the positions various politicians had taken on the issue.
On my return to lunch, our conversation turned to the survey and my responses. I am adamantly against smokeless tobacco and vaping. I don’t like tobacco in any form, but I don’t like a nanny state solution either. Smokeless pouches and vaping is said to help people quit smoking, although there are varied thoughts about using either of them. I concede that anything helping smokers quit is a good thing. My lungs are shot from decades of smoking. Vaping may be worse on lungs than cigarettes; it’s a false sense of “healthier” as it does contain nicotine and the long-term effects are currently unknown. That’s why I don’t like vaping products. How ever, my deep and abiding hatred for smokeless tobacco is very different.
Years ago, I lived on a farm that was located thirteen miles north of my hometown, Jonesboro, Arkansas. The farm was out in the boonies, and while I lived there my responsibility was to care for a bunch of registered Brangus cattle that my father owned. It was a wonderful place to live. I was living my best life. I was living the life of a cowboy. I had six horses to ride and three pastures to maintain. I counted the cows every morning. I made hay and medicated the cattle. I put salt licks out. And there was beer, there was always plenty of beer. Life was good.
Just like most young cowboys of that time, I took up dipping Skoal. Skoal is a wintergreen-flavored smokeless tobacco. As the commercials used to say, “All it takes is a pinch between your cheek and gum.” Walt Garrett dipped Skoal. Walt Garrett was a professional football player and rodeo cowboy. If he could do it, I could do it. I used a pinch as I rode the perimeter of the pastures checking the fences for breaks and damage. I mastered the Clint Eastwood spit. If you aren’t familiar with the Clint Eastwood spit, watch The Outlaw Josey Wales. You’ll understand. I’d also keep a six pack of semi-cold beer hung from my saddle horn, but that’s another story.
As mentioned, we had three pastures, the furthest from us was about two miles away from my trailer and the barn. I always used to carry a rifle with me when I rode so that were I to see a feral dog or a coyote, I would have the means to put him down. Feral dogs and coyotes prey on sick or small calves. I used to shoot them on sight.
One hot summer day, I was in the furthest pasture riding Thumbtack and checking the fences. I had a pinch in, some semi-warm beer hanging from the saddle horn and was enjoying a leisurely ride around the pasture when I saw them. It was a pack of, what appeared to be, feral dogs about 200 yards away. That’s a long shot with a .30-30 and iron sights. Being young and stupid, I decided that was a shot I would take.
I guided Thumbtack to a spot of shade. He stood absolutely still as I contemplated the shot. It occurred to me that with Thumbtack standing so still, I wouldn’t even have to dismount. I could take the shot from horseback. This would save me valuable time. The dogs were moving, walking and sniffing, along a tree line. They could disappear at any time.
Carefully, I adjusted the elevation on my sight. I checked for windage. The thick air was absolutely still. Windage was nil. I carefully aimed my rifle at the leader of the pack. He was a large, mongrel-looking dog that was leading the way and setting the pace. “Always take out the leadership,” echoed in my mind. I spit, relieving myself of excess tobacco juice. I thought of Clint Eastwood. He spits before he shoots you. I carefully sighted the animal. I exhaled, paused, centered on his body mass and gently squeezed the trigger.
I’m not sure what happened next, or even if I hit the dog. I do know that I hit the ground in a most awkward and unceremonious way. In doing so, I somehow managed to swallow most of my Skoal. Hitting the ground also knocked the wind out of me, so I rolled around for a minute or so trying to breath and gagging at the same time. Combining those to physical reactions into one simultaneous event is a fairly uncomfortable experience. Finally recovering some from my near-death experience, the Skoal began to afflict my digestive track.
It is well known that human beings should not swallow tobacco juice nor tobacco. This is for a good reason. Within five minutes of ingesting either or both, a healthy human being’s body will expel the offensive material by means of retching in an extraordinarily violent manner. It took me less than five minutes to experience that reaction, and it continued for quite some time. It even continued long after the entirety of the contents of my stomach had been expelled. Dry heaves are exhausting, and when they finally subsided, I looked up and saw Thumbtack, my trusty horse, standing patiently nearby. I was relieved. It was not lost on me that the walk back to the barn and trailer from here, wearing cowboy boots, would be a long, slow and torturous trek. No, my good horse, Thumbtack, had stayed in the shade and had stood by loyally, while I moaned and groaned, rolled around and threw up in the dusty pasture. It was in this moment that I realized that Thumbtack, my majestic steed, was perhaps the greatest horse who ever lived. I was filled with gratitude. Even John Wayne’s horse could do no better than this, I thought.
I was left very weak by my experience. I was a little banged up by the landing I experienced when Thumbtack threw me. I wasn’t mad about that. After all, I had fired a .30-30 from atop the horse, and I reasoned that he might not have been expecting that. I had retched so much that I was drained and physically exhausted. I was glad Thumbtack, my friend, was there to carry me back to the trailer where I lived back over on the other side of the main pasture, some two miles away.
I stood up and brushed some of the dust and grass off. I looked around for my hat and I picked up my rifle. Just as I turned to walk over to Thumbtack, Thumbtack, reigns dangling on the ground, slowly turned and began walking toward the barn. I walked a little faster to catch up to him so I could climb on and ride back to the barn. Thumbtack walked a little faster. I trotted to catch him. Thumbtack looked back at me and trotted just fast enough to stay just out of reach. I stopped. Thumbtack stopped and just stared at me. I understood.
I stood there in the hot sun for a few minutes contemplating my situation. I was battered from being thrown and exhausted from hurling because my horse threw me and I swallowed a “pinch of Skoal” after I fired a rifle from his back. It was hot and I was dehydrated and still very sick. It was July or August. The sun was like a heat lamp, and the hot air was thick, like cold corn syrup. I was wearing dirty jeans and worn out cowboy boots and battered from the fall. Thumbtack, lukewarm beer dangling from the saddle, looked back at me from his spot in the shade where he rested.
It occurred to me that I had just been outsmarted by a horse. Defeated, I started walking again. Thumbtack lead the long, dusty, painful way back to the barn. If you have never walked two miles through a very dry, hilly pasture in the blazing sun on a windless, hot and humid summer day, well, just skip it. It’s a long and miserable walk.
On this day, I learned (1) don’t fire a rifle from the back of a horse, (2) Skoal is an evil substance, and (3) my boots weren’t made for walking.
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