Skulls and bailing wire in an interestingly cluttered antique barn (Mel W Rhodes)
not just bovines!” he was quick to
correct and insistent. “There are a
lot of cattle out there, and I’ve had
hundreds and hundreds of head of
cattle, and friends of mine ranch to
this day — longhorns are in a class
all their own. One of my very best
friends — we’ve been friends since
we were old enough to know each
other, I’m almost 70 so probably
65 years — he’s a rancher, lives at
Sterling City and has probably 80-
90,000 acres scattered across Texas
and he raises several thousand head
of cattle, and those are bovines. But
these aren’t,” he assured, nodding at
the Boys who’d just wandered onto
the grass behind the house to graze.
“There’s just something special about
a longhorn. I mean I just can’t imag-
ine anybody not thinking there is.
[And apparently a lot of people think
they’re special] because I tell you
they wear the bar ditch out in front of
this place taking pictures of the Boys.”
Today’s longhorns are descended
from the wild stock driven north out
of Texas during the great trail drives
of the 19th century, particularly be-
tween 1866 and 1886. It is estimated
some 20 million head were herded
to railheads in Kansas for shipment
to Chicago and points farther east.
Longhorns, a random mix of Spanish
cattle gone feral and European stock
brought west in the 1820s and ’30s by
white settlers, were hardy, aggressive
and adaptable. And unique among all
60
other breeds.
“What is so unique about the Tex-
as Longhorn? What makes it different
from the multitude of other breeds
now available in North America?
Simply this: The Texas Longhorn was
fashioned entirely by nature right here
in North America. Stemming from
ancestors that were the first cattle to
set foot on American soil almost 500
years ago, it became the sound end
product of ‘survival of the fittest,’”
writes Dr. Stewart H. Fowler, PhD
on the animal science site of Okla-
homa State University. “Shaped by
a combination of natural selection
and adaptation to the environment,
the Texas Longhorn is the only cattle
breed in America which — without
aid from man — is truly adapted to
America. In his book The Longhorns,
J. Frank Dobie states this situation
well: ‘Had they been registered and
regulated, restrained and provided for
by man, they would not have been
what they were.’”
Texans returning from the horrors
of the Civil War found their former
lives in shambles. Marauding Indi-
ans and neglect had pushed back
the frontier. Rounding up longhorns
and driving them to market put gold
in Texan’s saddlebags, and fueled a
flagging economy ruined by the war.
One begins to see Pat’s point — long-
horns are not just bovines. Never
have been.
Pat’s Boys are not wild like the
longhorns wrangled by cowboys of
the 19th Century. But they are big and
can be dangerous. When up close
and personal with them, say while
hand-feeding them, Pat keeps his wits
about him. When these animals turn
their heads, a lot of space is invaded.
Cinco, Pat’s tall, dark and heavy long-
horn sports a 9-foot span of sharp-
ended horns. Twister’s and Concho’s
horns are shorter, but get the three of
them together looking for that hand-
out of cake and it can feel like you’re
in a blender. You have to watch out
for the sharp ends, you see. Pat plays
down the danger but admits to having
been knocked down a time or two.
I watched the big-eyed juggernauts
with a mixture of awe and anxiety,
ever ready to duck or dive out of the
way. And I counted my fingers after
slipping pieces of cake into their slob-
bery mouths.
While Pat is mighty fond of Cinco,
he has an extra special soft spot for a
longhorn named “King Boy.” His skull
and horns hold a place of distinction
on the sheltered back porch.
“King Boy was special,” he said.
“King Boy had it all. He weighed
about 1,800 pounds and had the
shape and tri-coloring, the Texas
Twist horns. He had the tempera-
ment. He was kind of like ol’ Cinco
down there — you could brush him,
he’d eat out of your hand, you could
lean on him. You and I could be
down there talking and I could lean
over him and he’d just stand there.
He kind of liked people. He was just
magnificent, probably the prettiest
longhorn I’ve ever seen. He was the
quintessential longhorn.”
The cowboy cried three years
ago when King Boy died. “He was
15 when I had to put him down,”
he said, maybe a slight catch in his
voice. “He broke his right hind hock
and couldn’t get up.” Many fond
memories of the not-so-long-gone
longhorn glimmered in Pat’s blue
eyes. Sometimes a man’s pet critter
finds its way to the heart.
“I’ll probably have longhorns the
rest of my life,” he concluded. “Long
as I can get down there with a bucket
of feed to feed them. They’re just part
of me and part of Texas, and I just
enjoy that.”