Last Stand at Coyote Yelp Pass
Last Stand at Coyote Yelp Pass
The Tragic Cowboy Memoirs of Bucky Laroo
Perfect Bound Softcover
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This book is about the night that Hollywood action star Max-Ram Target saved my life.  (At least that's what my publishers tell me.)

Truth be told, this book is my memoirs.  I'm not sure why, but my life on Cattle Poke Ranch has taken me to a lot of places that you may not even want to know about.  But if your curiosity is piqued by such things as Killer Cows, smug movie stars, amorous pop stars, East German assassins, hang-gliders, and potato guns, this just might be the book to buy.  Hi.  I'm Bucky Laroo.

One of my earliest memories of Cattle Poke Ranch was cranky old Gramps Laroo taking me up on his knee on the front porch of his rickety cabin, and telling me life lessons from his cowboy heritage.

"Bucky," he would say, "riding a horse is not like riding a rocking chair.  You see, boy, a horse ... is sort of like a woman."

My five-year-old mind churned over that new bit of information for a moment.

"No it's not," I said.

Gramps coughed a bit and came back at me with, "Of course it's not.  You see, boy, a horse ... is kind of like a cow."

"No it's not," I assured him.

"Get off my lap and go muck out the chicken coop, you ungrateful little snot," Gramps snarled.

Gramps was filled to the brim of his mangled old cowboy hat with bits of wisdom like that.  Apparently that's what sixty years of experience and a third-grade education will get you.  Even so, there are few more cherished images in my memory than that of ol' Gramps sitting in his rocking chair on that front porch, his fiddle tucked under his grizzled chin, and Old Blue asleep at his feet.  (Actually, that's the only memory I have of Old Blue.  To be perfectly honest, I sometimes wonder how long that dog had been dead before any of us noticed.  Such is the risk of a life devoted to porch-napping; You don't leave too much of a void when "The Sweet By And By" comes knocking.)

Lane Bristow spent his childhood being trampled by cows on Misty Meadows Ranch.  He now lives a trample-free existence in Chetwynd, British Columbia, Canada, and has never met a Hollywood action hunk or pop-singing sensation in his life.

He counts his blessings.


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