Herb first showed up at ranch headquarters in the early '90s. He became an everyday part of ranch life and, like any faithful ranch hand, deserves some recognition for his many times of going above and beyond the call when called upon.
Although not yet 20-years-old, Herb had seen more than his share. He had already survived a heart transplant, had several limb replacements, and there were parts of his body that never would never again function correctly. He was barely a shadow of his former self, but continued to dutifully take on each day with all that he had.
Herb was the new used flatbed pickup — the epitome of those ranch pickups that are wonders to the world of mechanical motorized vehicles. Like a few of the horses on the place, he was named after his previous owner.
Looking like a junk-yard reject, Herb sported spare parts from several "retired" vehicles.
He lost a door when an errant hired hand forgot to shut it as he backed away from the barn, peeling the door and fender from the frame like a banana. The replacement was functional, just not the same color.
The left half of the front grill guard lost a round with a horned bull that was on the fight and hung broken until the rough roads and pasture trips vibrated it to the ground. The front seat on the driver's side was worn completely through to metal. Without a pillow stuffed in that hole, you could lose a small child to the oblivion below.
The floor board had worn through to daylight allowing a view of the ground as you drove over it and gave a way for dust, mice and snakes to enter in if they were so inclined.
Mechanically, Herb was a wonder in that it was a wonder he was still running. He did eventually require an engine replacement (heart transplant) to keep him moving in a forward motion. His four-wheel drive capabilities hadn't worked in quite some time and the braking system was something akin to suicidal.
The windshield wipers worked if you could find the pliers to turn them on. The heater worked occasionally but was more often just a steam bath. The windows rolled up and down with some coaxing and pulling but they provided the only "air conditioning." Ultimately exiting from the driver's side required rolling down the window and using the handle on the outside of the door.
The glove box had no back or bottom to it, so the dashboard served to hold all that would have been traditionally stored there. You could find just about anything you could want on the dash except the dash. There was always a coffee cup, some baling wire, a record book, small calendar, feed tickets, propane bills, a pen that didn't work, assorted tools, a roll of toilet paper and a couple dried up packages of Red Man chewing tobacco.
On the up side, Herb led an exciting life as far as pickups go. He had pulled an assortment of trailers day and night, carried a cattle feeder year-round and chugged through snow to carry hunters to the hills. He had been on several rescue missions and was often the only vehicle that would start or move on bitter cold and stormy winter days.
If he could talk, Herb would have many stories to tell as any veteran of life does. So for him I write this tribute. Herb more than earned his place in ranch history.