by twelve of long shaggy ears in six green halters, each pair of ears would snap back at the mention of each burro’s name.
Those twelve ears were fascinating to watch as all of one accord they would turn backwards to listen to my commands, or pitch forward to trace the whereabouts of tourists or jack rabbits (depending on which of the critters we disturbed.) I shouldn't have said twelve turned in one accord, for it was only eleven. The right ear of Beef would turn slowly in erratic circles independently of the other eleven ears! We've chuckled over that comical ear many a time. You might not agree that an out of control ear is funny but moving at such a slow pace we began to find delight in small, seemingly inconsequential things.
We tried to buy hay at the Ponderosa Dairy near the town of Amargosa Valley but they only had it available in one ton bales, which of course were much too big for us to manage. They did however, suggest that we get our hay at Funeral Mountain Ranch which was only a day’s travel away, and they took us on board their truck scales and weighed us. All together we weighed 5,920 pounds!
As we pulled out of the dairy on our way to Funeral Mountain Ranch a car pulled up alongside and kept to our pace for a moment. A young woman leaned out of the passenger window and asked, "Are you traveling?"
"If you call two miles an hour traveling," I replied.
"No," she sputtered, "I mean are you going somewhere?"
I just nodded my head at her.
She smiled and waved, crowing, "I thought so!"
The next afternoon at Funeral Mountain Ranch we tried again to buy hay. The owner wanted to make us a gift of oat hay. I explained that I really appreciated his generosity but that in my opinion oat hay didn't have enough octane for hard-working animals, and again asked about buying alfalfa. He invited us to spend the night there and told us that David, the ranch foreman, would see that the team was fed that night if I'd put off buying the hay until morning. It was late and I agreed.
As David led off to show us where to camp, a diminutive man with a German shepherd dog at his heels came up to us to shake hands, he introduced himself as Norman Talmadge, a former jockey, and said he'd like to come by in a bit and visit as he was very interested in what we were doing.
We were led to a clearing along the edge of an alfalfa field facing the panorama of the Funeral Mountains. It was a lovely spot. I unhitched the burros from the wagon two at a time, while Carol sat on the wagon seat with her foot on the brake: in case those still hitched would try to follow the pair I was removing that way both the burros and I knew where Carol was and then we worked together to un-harness the animals.
Our electric fence was up and the burros were inside of its protection when David brought us some oat hay "to try.” The burros pushed it around with their noses picking out the oat seeds and then voiced their rejection of the proffered dinner with clamorous brays. I laughed out an "I told you so!" and the oat hay was soon replaced with first-class alfalfa from some broken bales nearby.
CHAPTER FIVE
Norman Talmadge, followed closely by his dog, Rin Tin Tin arrived in camp as soon as he saw that our chores were done and we were relaxing. He accepted one of our wooden camp chairs and sat down with us, straightening his black leather vest and shifting his plug of tobacco to a safe spot deep within his cheek.
He was eager to hear all about what we are doing and so we answered his questions and volunteered some information. But, I could tell that Carol was itching to hear his story. She's always saying, "I know all about us, I want to know about them!” (Meaning the folks that cross our path.) Forgetting that we were the oddity not our visitors. Most people came to learn about us. I liked a little give and listen a lot.
So, I wasn't surprised when she turned things around, and asked Norman to tell us about himself. Norman told a good story, and I know that it's okay with him if I retell it for you.
Norman started out by brushing back his graying hair with one hand and grinning at me, "I'm in the Jockey Hall-of-Fame of 1965," he said, "for winning two important races (one on the east coast and one on the west coast) in one day! Once in New Orleans I won six races out of eight in one day! It was a world’s record then, but since that time it has been matched.
"I never was famous. There have been a great many famous people from Ohio, (that's where I'm from), and I worked for quite a few. I rode for Betty Grable, Desi Arnez, and Dennis Weaver, (who played Chester on Gun smoke): which remind me, Amanda Blake kissed me once! It's not every man that gets a kiss from 'Miss Kitty!’ Jimmy Stewart presented me with this horseshoe shaped, sterling silver ring, with gold leaves on it."
Norman held out his right hand to us so that we could admire the well-crafted ring and then continued. "It was awarded to me in Hollywood Park by the Actors Guild in 1965, the day I made it into the Jockey Hall-of Fame."
"Even when I was in the army in World War II, I couldn't get away from famous people! I served with General Patton in North Africa and helped capture Rommel, the 'Desert Fox'. General Patton would often find an excuse to visit with me. We were both horse soldiers and had much in common. I was one of the last horse soldiers; I served in Company A of the 124th mounted cavalry out of Brownsville, Texas."
Our guest pulled down on his vest again and shifted his plug. "When I was 'called up' I weighed one hundred and ten. I could have lost eleven pounds and avoided the draft by weighing in at ninety-nine pounds. But I am patriotic; I wouldn't even consider doing it and am glad I didn't. As it was, I came out of the service at one hundred and twenty pounds. It may have been the shrapnel I brought home in my body!"
We laughed together and I got up and began to peel some potatoes. Norman saw that I was still listening so he continued, "That shrapnel stayed in me from 1944 until a doctor took it out during the Gulf War. While I was recuperating in the hospital I met General Norman Swartzcroff. 'Stormin' Norman' they called him. My friends there called me 'Little Stormin' Norman!"
Still pushing forward with his list of famous acquaintances Norman said, "I knew Bing Crosby personally. He'd come out to the track every morning and watch his race horses work out. He invited me to his ranch in Elko, Nevada and when I arrived he told me to make myself at home. I stayed there for a month!"
"The old foreman asked me, 'would you like to work a bit?' and I told him, 'I'm no cowboy but I'd like to try.’ Well, we spent a week working on fence lines and then I got to help drive cattle. We drove them forty miles in two days, it was hot and dusty, but, I really enjoyed it. However, I was uses to going in a straight line on the track and when those cutting horses turn; I have seen many a winning Jockey fall off in the dirt"
I dropped the peeled, and diced potatoes into a pot of water peeled the labels off a can of beef in gravy, and a can of whole kernel corn and dropped the denuded cans into the same pot, Norman was watching me.
"The cook on Bing's ranch sure did feed me well," he remembered. "Every morning for breakfast there was a huge platter of steak and eggs. Not exactly the right thing for a jockey who was trying to watch his weight!"
I lit the camp stove and put the pot on to boil. Norman shifted his plug for the third time as I sat back down.
"I learned to ride when I was just a kid," he said. "I was small for my age and I was horse-crazy even then. My parents gave a neighbor permission to take me out of school, a month early every spring, along with his son. He would take us to the racetrack in Columbus, Ohio."
"I started my career right there in Columbus. I was about twelve years old and it was in the thirties. I started out grooming, cleaning stables, and
