Riding Drag

If you’ve ever moved cattle any distance, you know there’s a pecking order to where everybody rides. Up front are the point riders, setting the direction and the pace. Along the sides ride swing and flank, keeping the herd from spilling out wide. And way at the back, behind the slowest cows, the tired calves, and the one old girl with a bad foot, rides drag.

Drag is the worst seat in the outfit. Every hoof in the herd has already been over that ground by the time you get to it, and all of it is hanging in the air waiting for you. You pull your bandana up over your nose and it doesn’t help much. By noon your hat brim is holding a quarter inch of dirt, your eyes feel like sandpaper, and your horse looks like somebody rolled him in flour. Nobody up front can see you. Nobody up front is thinking about you, either.

On the old trail drives, drag usually went to the newest hand — the green kid who hadn’t earned anything better yet. Plenty of outfits still hand it out that way. It’s easy to read that as a punishment. But spend a day back there and you start to see it different. The cattle that fall behind are the ones most likely to get lost, get hurt, or turn back. Drag is the job that makes sure the whole herd actually gets where it’s going — not just the fast ones.

An argument on the road

There’s a story in the Gospel of Mark we keep coming back to. Jesus and his disciples are walking down the road, and somewhere along the way the disciples get into it with each other. When they get to the house, he asks what they were arguing about, and nobody wants to answer — because they’d been arguing about which one of them was the greatest.

So he sits down, calls the twelve over, and tells them:

“If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of all, and servant of all.” — Mark 9:35

What gets us is that he doesn’t scold them for wanting to matter. He doesn’t tell them wanting to do something big is wrong. He just turns the whole map upside down. You want to be first? Go ride drag. Take the spot at the back. Look after the slow ones. Do the work that doesn’t get seen.

We’ll be honest — that one doesn’t come natural at our place. Most of us would rather ride point. We like being where the action is, where folks can see we’re good at something. And there’s nothing wrong with riding point when it’s your turn. But we’re starting to notice that the people we respect most usually aren’t the ones up front. They’re the ones who show up at a neighbor’s gather and spend all day holding a gap in the fence. The ones who stay late to clean up after everybody else has gone home. The ones who check on the old fella down the road without telling a soul. The ones who take the dusty job and don’t make a speech about it.

What we’re chewing on this week

Everybody’s got a version of drag in their life. It’s the dishes after the big meal. It’s the new hire nobody wants to train. It’s the aging parent who needs a ride to the doctor again, the kid who needs help with the same math problem for the third night running, the meeting where your whole job is taking notes. None of it gets a buckle. Most of it doesn’t even get a thank-you.

And we’ve noticed something about ourselves: when we do get stuck riding drag, we want somebody to know we’re back there eating dust. We’ll do the job, sure — but we’d like a little credit for it. That’s the spot this verse keeps putting its thumb on. Serving where nobody’s looking means actually being okay with nobody looking.

The small try for the week

Pick one dusty job this week and take it on purpose. Not the one you got stuck with — one you choose. Volunteer for the thing nobody else wants. Then comes the hard part: don’t mention it. Don’t post about it, don’t work it into conversation, don’t keep score. Just ride drag for a day and let the herd get where it’s going.

And keep an eye on the slow ones while you’re back there. Somebody in your life is falling behind right now — tired, hurting, or just a step slower than everybody else this season. Drag is where you’ll find them.

If faith is part of your life, you already know who took the lowest spot first and called it the way to the top. If it isn’t, the idea still holds: a herd only gets home if somebody’s willing to ride at the back. We’re learning this one right alongside you — and most days, we’re still trying to sneak up toward the front.

Pew, porch, or tailgate — wherever you’re reading this, thanks for riding along. Same time next Sunday.

— The Sackett Ranch Family