Howdy friends and neighbors.  Have you ever had one of those mornings where just about everything you touch falls apart, goes south, turns backwards, or just blows up?  The other morning I was having such an event.  But, it finally dawned on me what the root of all my horrific troubles was.  I had been in such a tizzy that I forgot to have my morning Dr. Pepper!!  I told my hired help that all was to come to a complete stop and I marched directly to the refrigerator in the medicine shack, popped a top, and took a big drink of my instant problem fixer.  Kinda like fix-a-flat in a maroon aluminum can.  Ahhh!  There’s nothing like a 32.5º F sip of Pepper that has the scent of black leg vaccine, B-12, and 48-hour penicillin on the upper lid.  The day went just fine after that.  (If the CEO of Dr. Pepper happens to read this, endorsement checks can be made out to Monte Tucker and Hat, Sunny Point, OK.)

 It’s time for ask the Hat!  First, Drew Edmondson writes in, “Dear Hat, does the little ribbon tied in a bow on the inside of a cowboy hat go in the front?” 

 No, Drew, real cowboys have been wearing their cowboy hats with the little bow in the back ever since the cowboy hat was invented.  Now, on occasion you will find real cowboys with their hats on sideways, inside-out, up-side down, or backwards as they are either under the influence of corn squeezing, love or have just been knocked silly by another real cowboy or some sort of livestock, or sometimes all of the above in one instance.  But never while campaigning for Governor.

 Next, Randall writes in, “How does the Hat recommend attaching “fence clips” to barb wire without getting pinched, cut or cussing?” 

 The answer: take a sip of Dr. Pepper and hire it done!  You know Randall, I have been secretly working on a device that looks like a cross between a nail gun and a cordless drill with which a guy could just walk up to a T-post and clip the wires like a carpenter would nail 2X4’s together with an air-nailer.  With my device, you could clip six wires in about 4 seconds.  I just need capital to get this idea off the ground.  Maybe the CEO of Dr. Pepper would be interested in investing?

 Next, Dean writes in, “Why does the public think that Flight Attendants are just high paid waitresses and don’t really listen to the safety demo on the flight.” 

 Do what Dean?  Oh, sorry, I was taking a sip and wasn’t paying attention.  Well, I was flying somewhere one time and had just taken my seat and was looking at that cool catalog with all the neat inventions that are way overpriced, well I was looking for a cordless drill like thing that would attach clips to barb wire fences, and the flight attendant on this Southwest flight (I just love Southwest!) started her spiel and kept my full attention the whole time.  First she said, “To all of you that haven’t ridden in a car manufactured after 1956, here is how you buckle your seat belt.  If we thought there would be a sudden drop in cabin pressure on this flight, we wouldn’t have come to work today, but in case it happens, after you strop screaming, place this mask on your face, quickly deposit one quarter and breathe freely.  Slap the idiot next to you and do the same.  If we should happen to crash into the only mud puddle between Amarillo and Kansas City, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device.  If you are seated in an exit row when we crash into that mud hole, pull the latch, toss the door out of the plane and follow it!”  This is a true story that happened over ten years ago and I still remember it!  Just as the plane took off, she then got back on the mic and said, “Passenger with license plate number 776-HG, you left your lights on.”

I’m Monte Tucker and that is what’s under my know-it-all hat.  Tune in next week when the Hat attempts to answer Justin’s question, “Is the price of eggs really worth the wear and tear on a hen’s *#@% ?”

Howdy friends and neighbors.  Yep, I took last week off.  I don’t know why other than it was a time change thing…  So, let’s get after it!

 I can’t believe that I am coming up on my fourth year of writing this weekly mess!  Time flies when you are talking cows and politicians.  It is amazing to me how far the little dare has gone.  My column runs in many newspapers and I have an e-mail list that keeps growing.  I have had a few speaking engagements, had a couple of featured stories written in magazines about me, and have been a guest on a couple of radio talk shows.  Fun, fun, lots of fun.  It seems that common sense and rural humor is still in demand.  So, I have decided to give something back to my readers.

 A friend recommended a while back that I consider a new venture in my  writing and after many sleepless nights (well, a good thirty minutes anyway) and consulting with my cow dog; I think I will give it a trial run.  What is it, you ask?  Well I am going to start an “Ask the Hat” section where you the reader can ask the really tough questions about proper boot scraping etiquette,  just how far below the engine oil mark on a dip stick can the oil be and a twenty year-old truck still run, how best to retrieve a lariat rope that is snug on a wild cow who is in the middle of a pond,  how barn cats multiply and subtract,  how long should one let a frost-free faucet drip before attempting repair, the best low-cost electric fence removal technique and what is the ideal cup in which to dip Oreo cookies.  From curing foot rot on an alpaca to blindness in pigeons to how to make an ugly boar attractive, it’s a reader’s choice.  Ask the hat questions like “what moon phase is best for scooping out grain bins?”  Feel free to ask about the weather, the markets, politics, Einstein’s theory on relativity or how to keep ALL your trailer lights working.  I’ll give you an answer, it’s up to you if you like it or not. My hat and I will do this for a while and see where it leads.  Disclaimer— If you actually take my hat’s (an inanimate object) advice or opinion, don’t plan on a lawsuit, the hat is as broke as I am.  If you do decide to sue, I will just give you the Hat, and its lawyer!  This section is for pure entertainment, just like congress.

 The questions above are simply examples.  Send in anything you wish to ask the hat.  Ask away.  Just e-mail your most perplexing or simple questions to monte@whatsundermyhat.com and I will select one or more to answer in my next article.  Please keep your questions brief and to the point.

 So send in those questions, my hat is hanging by.

 I’m Monte Tucker, getting desperate for something to write about.

Howdy friends and neighbors.  I’m going to be quick this time; my two wild cows are due in from Las Cowages on the next 27 passenger Travelong goose-neck trailer.

Last weekend a friend of mine caught on camera what I consider to be wrong with politics as a whole.  He caught some really great shots.   These photos represent exactly what career politicians are all about.  Appearance; telling us what they think we want to hear, and as authentic as a shovel full of the stuff stuck to the bottom of the livestock trailer mentioned above.

The honorable, most distinguished, bozo of an Attorney General, Drew (can’t whip chicken poop) Edmonson was in his orange button down OSU shirt, black sweater and boots that I imagine have only been worn this one time.  In the back of a Chevy pick-up truck with signs plastered across the side reading “Edmonson for Governor 2010,” he was smiling his fake smile to the crowd in Stillwater at the Oklahoma State University homecoming parade.  Ok, wait a second; if you are a cowboy prepare to be terribly offended!  HE HAD HIS BLACK FELT COWBOY HAT ON BACKWARDS!!!!!!!!!!!!   Plain as day!  Obvious!  No second guessing, no instant replay.  100% backwards!

AGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!  The hopeful candidate for Governor of the state of Oklahoma, first of all is not an OSU grad, fan, wanna-be fan, nor even cares about OSU; he doesn’t even have the sense to know front from back on his wanna-be cowboy hat, nor do any of his staff that are with him!  So let’s all go vote for this guy to be in charge of the Oklahoma National Guard.  What a greenhorn.  Thank goodness his staff didn’t try to put him on a horse! 

The pictures are worth a thousand words and are absolutely priceless. A politician trying desperately to be something he isn’t.  This time it backfired.  So, you might as well vote for me.  I know how to wear a cowboy hat and I will never pretend to be a lawyer!!!

I’m Monte Tucker and that is what’s under my offended cowboy hat!  Where’s the ACLU?  My hat has rights!

Howdy friends and neighbors.  Have you ever been to an airport?  I have noticed that a common thread among all who travel like a bird is that they must inquire as soon as possible what kind of plane they are getting on.  You know, is it a Boeing 777 or a crop duster?  Like the size of the plane is going to make the whole travel experience any better.  I have no clue where this thought came from because I haven’t been to an airport lately nor am I planning on going anywhere.  It just popped into my head the other day as I was loading out a set of heifers.

 I wonder, (forgive me for wasting a few minutes of your time by going here…) if cattle do the same thing when they go to or from a sale barn, pasture, feedlot, or beyond.  I can just hear them saying as they follow the rancher’s feed bucket into the corral:

 “Gee Marge, I wonder if we are getting a 52 foot, punch side Barrett Gold Series aluminum pot?”  

 “No, Tess.  Tight-wad farmer Brown is over there hooking up that ‘68 year model open-top, 16 foot, FFA shop-built sardine can puddle-jumper.” 

“Well, doesn’t that just put knots in your tail?” 

 “Oh, but look at these tickets, we have a connection at Elk Livestock.  There is a good chance we will get a double-decker out of there.” 

 “Oh, goody Tess!”  

 “Or, there is good chance we could get one of those super-fast 24 by 8’s with full top and running lights.” 

 “You’re right! Oh, I hope it’s a quick-connecting ride!” 

“Yeah, I hope we don’t get dusted in and have to spend the night in the cross alley.”

 Of course, the big time, big shots get the private trailers.  The pure-bred elite get the Gulf Stream equivalent as they travel in enclosed, air-ride private trailers with plush wood shavings and a place to lie down.  They travel complete with three-coarse meals and the finest of waters. 

 The pee-ons are literally pee-ons as they travel coach where it is crowded, noisy and there’s only one big open bathroom.  There are the three bawler calves across the divider gate that just keep bawling and carrying on.  There is a fat bull with his tail on your rail and 6-year old silage on his breath.  Then there are two old cows that should really keep their stories about roaming the bucking bull pastures to themselves.  “What goes on in Las Cowages, stays in Las Cowages!”  They’ve even got tattoos!  A big 1+ on their hip.

 I’m Monte Tucker, wondering how all that got under my hat???  You just never know! 

 Another random thought, if I ever buy a sale barn, I’m going to name it “Cowport.”

Howdy friends and neighbors.  The Nobel Peace Prize?????????????   Ha, haaa, hhhhaaaa, ha, ha, haaaa!  Oh, Ha, ha, ha, haa.  No quit it! Ha, haahaaa, ha.  Oh my, that is just too funny!  What’s next?  Are they going to give me the Pulitzer Prize?  Ahhh, HA, HA, HA, HA!  No, wait!  They are going to give Dick Chaney the Eddie Eagle Gun Safety Award….   Oh, I got another one.  Mothers Against Drunk Driving are going to make the late Ted Kennedy an honorary member.  Oh, no how about this one?  Nancy Pelosi wins Miss America.  HA, ha, ha…..Barney Frank is a front runner for the Heisman Trophy!!!

 What a Joke!  I’m going back to the living room to watch some baseball and football.  See ya next week when they announce, Rush Limbaugh to receive ACORN volunteer of the year, Oprah takes top honors at National Cattle Feeders convention, and Hillary Clinton, Mrs. December!

 I’m Monte Tucker and that is what flew out of my hat.

Howdy friends and neighbors, and howdy fall!  Where is that coat that I took off last spring???  Is the heat lamp working in the well house?  Who has the best price on anti-freeze?  Oh well, I’ll worry about all that stuff the night before it really gets cold.  I figure I still have a month or so left.

Let’s talk cattle markets for a spell.  Now I don’t want to loose my readers that could care less about cattle markets but I made an executive decision to go there instead of offending some folks by writing about our self-appointed messiah president that proved last week that he his no Greek god.  He and the first gripper had to hop back on that carbon belching Air Force One and warm the planet as they headed back state-side with their excuses for not getting their rich buddies big paying Olympic jobs.  Oh well, back to screwing up health care beyond what it is now.

Hold on, you all think I’m a demo basher but let me bash the elephants too.  All they can do is sit around moaning and groaning about how bad things are but they forget that they had the proverbial football on the one yard line, first down and goal to go, about six or so years ago and they did worse than fumble.  They just gave the ball to the dems.  The next problem is that the dem’s have no clue where their goal line is.  Anyhow, it gives me something to fill space with.  On to the cattle markets!

It’s October and calves are coming to town.  Big, fat, bawling calves.  I just love watching the cash cattle markets.  I personally think that an open cry cattle auction is the most perfect market in existence today.  There is supply.  There is demand.  And the lack of over supply coupled with a willing demand makes a market.

The market doesn’t have to make sense, it is just simply what two or more buyers are willing to spend for a class of cattle at that exact time.  Professors, magazine economists, and coffee shop experts then try to analyze the market the day after so they can somehow predict what it will be later that day.  But absolutely no one can predict a market.  I repeat NO ONE.  But, but, but, the futures market…  NO!  The futures market is TODAYS MARKET for a specific commodity that is to be delivered at a future date.  I love the explanation, “if the futures market predicted a future price, then why do they open it and trade again tomorrow?”  But, but, but Cattle Fax says, but, but, Dr. PhD with a mega data cattle cycle, 3-D chart, NASA super computer says…  I can’t tell you what the market will do tomorrow, but I can tell you with certainty what is was last Friday.

This is why I love the cash cattle markets.  We are told by numerous sources that weight gain is the key to profitability in the cattle business.  And, ok, it helps but it is not always the key.  Last Friday a set of steer calves entered the sale ring. They weighed 555 pounds and sold for $95.75 per hundred or $531.41 a head.  Their little brothers (same type, same ranch) enter and weigh 465 pounds and fetch $112.50 per hundred or $523.12 per head.   That rancher was paid $8.29 per head for 90 pounds of gain on his steers!  That’s a cash cattle market, lots of demand for four weights and lots of supply of five weights.  Now, don’t think that that will happen next week.  It could. Or it could get worse or better.  My advice is to not get wrapped up in the main stream thinking.  Look at the cash markets and simply sell what the market is desperately wanting.  Yes, it is just that simple!

I’m Monte Tucker, and that is what’s under my hat, pulled down tight as I’m sorting off the four weight steers…GET OUT OF THE GATE you knot head dog!  OK, maybe it’s not just that simple….

 Howdy friends and neighbors.  Oh man, we have been busy sowing wheat, weaning calves and praying for rain.  What??  Praying for rain?  Yeah, we’re dry as usual while the rest of the state gripes about being too wet.  That’s life out here next to the one-hundredth meridian.

 Someone needs to contact the Animal Planet TV network.  I have discovered that I’m a skunk whisperer.  The other day while I was having one of those days; I had a small gas engine quit on the grain cart I use to transfer wheat from the bin to my grain drill.  So, my options were to get a bucket and a scoop shovel or rob another 6 horse power engine off of a small cattle sprayer I had.  So, I looked at the scoop, started to dial my wife on my “more bars, more places hip phone,” and decided to rob the other engine instead.  It was in my Grandmothers barn so off I went with a 9/16 and a ½ inch wrench to avoid having to ask my wife to scoop wheat seed thus saving my marriage while decommissioning my sprayer.  There is probably a Proverb that says something like “unwise man should not ask loving wife to scoop wheat.”  That would be the western Oklahoma farmer/rancher translation.  

 Anyhow, I was fully concentrating on a ½ inch nut that was at that point where it was too loose for a ratchet but too tight for fingers.  You gear heads know what I’m talking about.  It’s some kind of bolt and nut utopia where they get to laugh while we go back and forth from wrench to fingers to pliers and then back to the wrench.  Plus, they always occur in tight, hard to reach places.

 So there I was, bent over in a semi-dark barn hallway, swatting mosquitoes and telling this bolt how much I didn’t like it when I came face to face with ole Pepé Le Pew.  This skunk snuck up behind me while I was totally involved with the Briggs and Stratton.  As I turned, our eyes met.  He was about six feet from me.  I just started whispering “don’t you spray, don’t you dare spray!”  That little stinker looked at me for about half a day, or 4 to 5 seconds, nodded his head up and down and then went on his way!  I was literally just feet from needing a bath in tomato juice when that varmint decided he better go one his way.  When Pepé was at a safe distance I made a dash for the truck to search for a gun.  I was in my dad’s work pickup so after I dug and pulled out from behind the seat three coats, four old Penny News papers, a roll of paper towels, an electric fence tester that doesn’t work, 30 feet of nylon lariat rope, a wore out Feist Area Wide phone book, a roll of toilet paper (I kept that close because I needed it next) an Ivomec injection syringe with rubber hose, and something my four year old picked up somewhere, I found the .22 rifle.  But no bullets!  Oh well, by now my grandmother had come down to the barn to tell me Pepé was long gone.

 I’m guessing he sensed that I had been in a thirty-minute battle with a ½ inch stubborn bolt and nut, mosquitoes, a rancher’s aft cab collection, and he decided to leave out in a hurry.  I knew animals could sense fear, but I didn’t know they could sense and avoid an on-coming tool-throwing fit!

 I just thank the good Lord that I was in my dad’s truck.  If I had been in mine, chances are I would have had a few cow dogs with me. Then chances would have been really good that the cow dogs and I would have smelled like we just got back from Washington D.C.!

 I’m Monte Tucker, and that is what’s under my skunk whispering hat!

Howdy friends and neighbors. This is absolutely my favorite time of the year, summer going into the fall.  The days are starting to get shorter, the temperature has started to cool and vary, and it is time to plant the next wheat crop.  The hay season is winding down, the summer crops are about ready to harvest and spring born claves are almost ready to wean.  Soon you will need a coat in the morning and the AC in the afternoon.  And then there is football.

 Sunday morning, as I was getting ready to go to church, my gut started to churn and I decided I better stay put at the house.  You know, we all have the Swine Flu out here in Western Oklahoma, according to the Daily Misinformation anyway; the same paper that is too broke to deliver their rag this far west.  So I thought I’d stay close to the house.  My ailment was probably a case of laziness because after a little breakfast and a nap, I felt fine.

 I decided after a couple of hours flipping through 680 channels of nothing that I felt well enough to go feed my new arrivals bought at the sale last Friday.  What a beautiful morning!  After I describe this you will probably think the swine flu has melted my brain, but I assure you that I am just fine.  It was a gloomy, foggy, overcast morning and it was drizzling rain.  The pens were muddy and my newly arrived guests at Tucker’s five star hotel for cattle were a little wet.  Yep, it was a great morning.

 This may all seem weird because I’m saying it was great while you’re reading that I woke up with a gut pain on a gloomy, rainy morning with a muddy pen full of new, un-weaned calves out of a sale barn?  And again I say, YEP, what a great day!

 I woke up in a country in which I have the freedom to worship God without fear of persecution.  I woke up in a house that I freely own and a ranch that is on loan from God right here in Sunny Point, Oklahoma.  If I had felt badly enough, there are four hospitals within 30 miles of me.  I was able to get over that with the help of a little breakfast from the safest, most abundant food supply in the world.  I then got to go out and take care of cattle that I bought at an open cry auction market with the help of the greatest banking system in the world.  The heifers I have the privilege owning are super nice, fancy things.

 So, there I was walking around in my muddy pens with dry feet (thanks Justin Boot makers) while it was still raining with my trusty (“trusty” may be a stretch) cowdogs at my side admiring and caring for the cattle in my possession.  There are lots of things I could have complained about.  But all you have to do is think for just a second about others that are going through tougher challenges and a wet, gloomy morning can be another beautiful day.

 As I was getting rained on, I just stopped and looked at the whole situation.  All that came to mind was, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10

 I’m Monte Tucker, and that is what’s under my dirty, wet hat.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Howdy friends and neighbors.  Here it is Sunday evening once again, as I sit down to write this, and what a gorgeous day!  Absolutely beautiful!  Cool and calm with some moisture in the air and a little in the ground.  We sure could use another rain though.  Of course, the only time I’m not wishing for a rain at Sunny Point, Oklahoma is when it is raining.  Then, I’m hoping it doesn’t stop for a while.  I’m doing my part to make it rain.  I’ve got the lid open on the grain bin, I’ve got the windows down and cattle mineral on the back of ol’ tan, but this is the clincher, I’ve got some of the best hay down I’ve had in a long time!  And if that doesn’t stir up a good storm, well I might have a shot at that Governor’s chair and Pepper “the wonder dog” could be the next Attorney General.

The landscape north of Sweetwater Oklahoma is in the process of changing.  The windmills are going up!  A wind energy farm is going in a few miles north of Sweetwater where there are about 44 of the giant electrical wind turbines being installed.  They have four up so far and I can see them from my place.  I still have mixed emotions about them being in the landscape.  The windmills are definitely going to change the view out here.  But, I think I’m okay with that.

I’ve heard all the debate from both sides whether or not these windmills will ever pay out.  I don’t have a clue.  How long did it take Hoover Dam to pay out?  How long did it take the national interstate system to pay out?  I’m not a believer in global warming or any of the scare tactics that people use to keep others in fear so they can remain in power, but I do believe in converting natural resources into consumable products because it creates wealth. 

Wind is a renewable natural resource.  Capturing wind energy is not new.  Pioneers to the prairie used wind to pump water.  Wind to electricity is not new either.  My Granddad had a wind charger 50 some years ago that they used to charge batteries that powered lights and a radio.   I still have a couple of windmills that pump water for livestock.

Next summer when it gets hot again, maybe me and a few of my buddies can figure out how to hang cooling pads around these big fans.  Then Sweetwater, Oklahoma would be home to the world’s largest evaporative coolers!  Now there is a solution for those that think the earth is getting hotter.

I just hope one of the big shots at this wind farm read my article a few weeks ago about how when I was in college I fixed a windmill by hitting it with a shovel.  When one of these monster turbines goes haywire, I’ll show up with my shovel.  For a great big, small nominal fee I’ll hit that sucker, collect my fee, slap a “Tucker for Governor” bumper sticker on it and ride off into the sunset.  Wait a minute!  I live east of these windmills.  I’ll ride off into the sunrise.

I’m Monte Tucker, standing by with shovel, garden hose and hat!

Howdy friends and neighbors.  Mark your calendars!  Dad and I spotted frost flowers this past week; so, in 60 days we should see our first frost.  That puts it here on…. October 17^th.  A frost flower, according to Sunny Point urban legend blooms around 60 days prior to the first frost of the fall.  If you want to look for some they stand about two feet tall out in pastures, light green with a white flower like thing-a-ma-bob at the top.  Sorry, I don’t know the scientific name for this plant.  But as far as my prediction goes… it was two days off last year and hey, my guess is as good as anybody else’s.

What’s that noise from outside?  What are those dogs barking at???  Oh I’ve got cattle out!  See ya next week!

GuEsT LeTtER tO the eDitoR:

This is Pepper “the wonder dog,” Tucker’s top cow hand.  Anyhow, the rumor around the barn yard here is that the old wind bag thinks he’s going to make a run for the governor’s seat here in this state.  Well, he’s as full of it as that young pup the other day that got into a fifty pound sack of high protein baby calf milk replacer.  Yep, Tucker thought it was me until the rookie couldn’t go fifty feet the other day gathering steers without stopping with the gut pain.  Ha, ha, ha.  Oh he had a bad case of the squirts.  I took notes though cuz I ain’t no fresh hound anymore and when nature needs a helping hand, I’ll go to the milk sack! 

Anyway where was I?  Oh, the Governor stuff.  I went out and talked to a bunch of calves a while ago and we came up with this plan of getting him out of the house so I could submit this letter to the editor.  The calves are going to run around the section and come back to the pen, so I’ve got to get to the point.

The likelihood of Monte winning the governor’s race is about as much as me French kissing a barn cat!  We animals around here can’t have boss going to the big city every day or going to Mexico fishing with big money lawyers.  Who would feed us?  I absolutely need that certain spot on my belly rubbed daily; you know the one that makes my back leg go crazy. 

The horse Charlie, little sis Dottie, a red limousine heifer and I were able to catch boss on campaign killing video tape the other day.  It was so funny!  Boss Monte was going to load this limi heifer in the trailer and that is when our plan took action.  Charlie had the camera, Dottie and the pup were positioned behind boss, and I was under the trailer.  About the time limi stepped into the trailer, I raised all kinds of sand barking and biting.  Dottie got right behind boss’s feet and lay down.  Limi spun and took off on a collision course with boss.  He tripped backwards over Dottie as Limi flew right over the top of him and managed to sling a bit of bovine waste off her tail right down his shirt.  Perfect!  And sure enough ol’ boss came up out of the dirt tool throwing mad!  Charlie caught all the audible adjectives as boss graded a hot shot in one hand and a sorting stick in the other.  He threw his new hat that the feed salesman left yesterday (I got all four of his tires) at Dottie as she took cover in ol’ tan.  The camera rolled on as boss chased after me spitting and hollering, making death threats at me.  It was obvious that if I had slowed down any, he was going to use that Bill Bob cattle trucker yellow hotshot on me.  But Pup had chewed through the main red wire on it early this morning.  That’s another story.  Oh, I laughed for hours.  Pup just got through to the bare copper and I stepped on the button.  He lit up like a Mississippi bull wagon on a dark night and painted the loading chute with milk replacer!

So, if boss blows anymore about public office, we have the tape stashed away in the barn.

Oh, I’ve got to go.

I’m Pepper “the wonder dog,” and that is what’s under my collar!