Cattle Bidness

Well them four walls of Raiford, closing in on me
Doin’ three to five hard labor, for armed robbery
I had two years behind, but I could not wait the time
Every time I thought about it, well I died some more inside
– Lynyrd Skynyrd

The Duke stopped by Uncle Bubba’s to give notice that cattle had to be moved. He has 206 head at the prison in Raiford and needed to ride out pairs and get a count to fill an order for delivery in Texas. His crew along with the inmates could work them, but an extra hand is always welcome. Raiford, located on the backside of one of the few remaining tobacco farms in Florida, and namely the prison is ingrained in a sandy prairie, prostrate, baking in the sun. The Duke’s cattle graze slowly, contentedly on large pastures surrounding the caged men soundly incarcerated. Upon early arrival the cow hands rounded up 140 head and ran them through the pens to run a count and separate the bulls and young calves.


The calves were moved to a small holding pasture to mammy up with their mamas. The remainder of the mooing, moaning, bellering bovines were moved to low greener pastures to await shipping day.






Now let me just tell ya that the melodramatic matadors in Spain feign a prosaic display compared to the uncompromising dance of a cow hand in a crowded cattle pen. And for a few hours in the sweat of a July day of dusty dirt and cattle cakes there are no inmates, just men. And the work they do is for them as much as vein things since neither the inmate nor the cowboy can truly make a material living. The cowboys' day ended late on handshakes, stories, and a cold beer. But ironically, the inmates were rounded up, counted, and put back in their pens.