D.J. Peppers

The weather may find us in rain or in mud; may bake us or sizzle us down;
The treacherous quicksands may mire us deep, and the leaders and wheelers may drown;
The blizzards may howl and the hurricane blow, or injuns may camp on our trail,
But nary excuse will the foreman accept for havin' the chuck-wagon fail.
- E.A. Brininstool (The Range Cook's Holler)

Howdy Ya'll,


I am one of the unfortunate souls that no longer have the privilege of living in the great state of Texas. However, I do my best to get back there every chance I get to lift my spirits in the land of bluebonnets and big sky. Every January my fellow gypsies and I choose a Texas town, and gather to celebrate the birthday of a living legend: a great country cowboy who at birth was given the sad city moniker of Dennis James. We do have mercy on his poor soul, however, and just call him D.J.

D.J. is one of those cowboy gypsies that will change your life when you meet him. I didn’t say “when you get to know him.” I said “when you MEET him.” Rarely does someone personify the heart of the Lone Star State – the pride, the arrogance, the attitude – in the way this cowboy does.

So this year we met up in Cowtown and had ourselves a high time ridin’ and ropin’ and workin’ up a Texas sized hunger. We strolled into one of our perennial favorites at The Stockyards, the H3 Ranch (www.h3ranch.com), and ordered the Mop Steak and a couple of Shiners. I love the H3 for the food, but I also love watching the tourists as they consider how to sit on the bar stools that are topped with western saddles. But that’s another story.

And what, you may ask is a mop steak? Do yourself a favor. Saddle up and get to Fort Worth, post haste, and treat yourself to one of the juiciest pieces of sirloin cow meat you’ll ever eat, basted while it grills in their delicious mop sauce. You may be asking, “What the hell is mop sauce?” I’m glad you asked, and I’ll answer you by saying, “Hell if I know, and hell if I care. But it sure is good.”

Well as it turns out, we needed more than a couple of Shiners because D.J. decided it would be a good idea to order up some grilled jalapeno peppers as an appetizer to our mops. In Brother Dennis’ estimation, any dinner at the H3 would simply be incomplete with out them.

Sitting at the table, another one of our favorite cowhands, Chad Allen (C.A.) had never sampled said peppers and was quickly becoming the object of pressure from his peers. C.A. is one of those Texas gypsies that’s wandered all over the Great State, and has spent his last few years livin’ on the Mexican border. I would’ve figured him for a pepper expert. D.J. exercised his influence and announced to us that by grilling the peppers it made them “sweet” and “mild” and that it would bring out more of the flavor in his steak. Not being one to miss out on the flavors of life, C.A. stabbed a pepper with his fork and took a bite.

From across the table, I watched with a grin as C.A.’s left eye slowly gave birth to a small tear, and seconds later his right gave birth to its twin. His knuckles began to turn white with the strain of his fists squeezing the knife and fork in each hand. “Excuse me sir?” C.A. said to the waiter through clenched teeth. “I’m….gonna be….needin’ another Shiner.” I would have thought a man livin’ in Laredo would’ve developed a higher tolerance. But I’m afraid the pressure was more than he could bear.

My grin turned to a chuckle when I considered Brother D.J. sitting next to him eatin’ those hellfire peppers faster than a monkey can demolish a banana.

Peppers aside, the mop steak and fries were delicious as always. And Shiner tastes better in Texas. And this cowboy is already countin’ the days till I can get back.

Till Then,
- Gypsy

Total Fiction!

A cowboy appeared before St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.

'Have you ever done anything of particular merit?' St. Peter asked.

'Well, I can think of one thing,' the cowboy offered. 'On a trip to the Black Hills out in South Dakota , I came upon a gang of bikers who were threatening a young woman. I directed them to leave her alone, but they wouldn't listen. So, I approached the largest and most tattooed biker and smacked him in the face, kicked his bike over, ripped out his nose ring, and threw it on the ground.. I yelled, 'Now, back off or I'll kick the CRAP out of all of you!'

St. Peter was impressed, 'When did this happen?''

'Couple of minutes ago.'

Threadbare Gypsy Soul

Howdy ya'll,

In the immortal words of the great Texas prophet Pat Green: "I got myself a threadbare gypsy soul. Likes to drink and dance and go wherever the wind blows."

In that same spirit I felt it was time to share my cowboy gypsy spirit with the rest of the world. I've found that whenever the wind blows, it tends to move me to the the various hitchin' posts that this wide world has to offer, and in every place, there's a new adventure. So, in the tradition of the great campfire cowboys, I believe it's time for me to share some stories with you, my friends.

Get yourself a comfortable saddle 'cause we have a long way to go. Hopefully you'll enjoy the ride.

Till then,
Cowboy