Tucson Daily Citizen, Thursday Evening, August 6, 1942
Dayton, University of Arizona co-ed, pauses in her job of horseshoeing
to answer a question with a mouth full of nails. Bill Hubbard,
of Eagle Rock, Calif., also working at the G F Bar ranch for
the summer, helps keep the mare quiet. Above, Doris flanks a
frightened calf in the corral preparatory to branding. Right,
Bill Hubbard holds a wriggling calf suspected of having a pink
eye infection, while Doris drops methylane blue in the calf's
eye. Doris Dayton, university Rodeo Queen, is spending the summer
working as a cowhand on the G F Bar ranch in Pepper Sauce canyon
beyond Oracle. The ranch is owned by Mrs. Eulalia Bourne Ryland.
Former Eastern Girl Takes On Job Of Cattle Wrangling
In Arizona where men have bossed the range and liked to think they
bossed the women, things have taken a new turn and women are invading
the exclusive domain of men, cattle wrangling.
Up in Pepper Sauce Canyon at the G-F Bar ranch, Doris Dayton, University
of Arizona senior, is riding fences, driving cattle to fresh watering
holes, doctoring animals, shoeing horses, and even helping to build
a screened porch.
It all sounds like the accomplishments of an Amazon, which Doris
is not. It might lead the unwary into thinking of her in terms of
a very husky number with muscles that would be the envy of a physical
culture ad model. The unwary, let into such an opinion, would have
a fine shock at seeing a small, very attractive brunette just as much
at home on a dance floor as on a horse
one who can wiggle a mean
In a country facing a serious cowboy shortage, Doris is doing all
the things a cowboy would be expected to do, although she claims she
doesn't do her jobs as well as a cowboy.
Of all Doris'
accomplishments as cowhand, shoeing horses is probably the most unusual
for a woman. For some reason or other she doesn't like to be known
as a girl who shoes her own horses.She admits to it with a great reluctance
and says, "But don't tell anyone I do it, will you?" Anyone
who tells must feel like a fine betrayer.
When the need
arises, however, Doris is not overwhelmed by the prospect of going
out to the corral, roping any horse in the lot, sticking a bunch of
nails between her teeth and proceeding with the job of shoeing, with
the horse standing [
ley] by on three feet
not to dociley.
She says that
no one taught her. She just watched it done a number of times and
then came a day with a ride to Mount Lemmon in the offing and Doris'
horse had lost his shoe. She had a choice of shoeing her horse or
staying at home. She wandered about for a little while, wondering
whether or not she could turn the trick. Finally she decided that
wandering and wondering would get her nowhere fast and the ride to
Mount Lemmon would be off if she didn't get busy at her task. So she
found some horseshoes, nails and a hammer and went to work. It turned
out not to e as hard as she thought it would and she has been shoeing
her horses ever since.
Out on the G-F
Bar, Doris has even been treating a calf of pink eye, grabbing him
when he hides in a corner and dropping methylane blue from an eye-dropper
into his eye while he wriggles and bucks in the dusty corral. When
questioned about it, she said the treatment had been effective and
no other infections had occurred, but when they found the first, Doris
and Bill Hubbard, from Eagle Rock, Calif., who is also working on
the ranch this summer, proceeded to give out with a large scale pink-eye
treatment to protect the herd.
Although she was
born in the east and spend the first half of her life there without
learning to ride, Doris' father, Paul K. Dayton of Oracle, decided
she should learn to ride like all western children
She learned rapidly, but she claims it was only because her first
horse was spirited and she either had to learn rapidly or continue
falling off, which was becoming pretty painful.
Her reward for
learning to ride was a western saddle, rather an anti-climax to bareback
riding, but more comfortable. She had no actual riding lessons except
her father's advice "Stick on " shouted from the corral
When Doris started
at the University of Arizona in her sophomore year, however, she had
her first riding lessons from Major Delmor Wood, formerly assistant
professor of military science and tactics at the university. There
she used an English saddle for the first time and found it even harder
than learning to ride had been, since she had to break her well-established
riding habits and form new ones.
At the beginning
of her second year at the university, Doris was learning polo and
finding it "very exciting." It was a great disappointment
when the Army order came through discontinuing the use of cavalry
horses for university polo work. "But I'd as soon be driving
cattle," she says. "It lasts longer than a polo game."
A Spanish major
at the university, minoring in Pan-American relations, Doris still
finds time to take electives in the agricultural college. She studied
animal husbandry, range management and other courses and hopes to
take still more. The reaction of her instructors in the Aggie school
is first, "Why, she's a nice girl, and good-looking, too,"
and, second, "And, by gosh, she's got a lot of aptitude for the
Doris has served
on the university rodeo committee for the two years she ahs been at
Arizona and last year she was chosen Rodeo Queen.
At home in Oracle,
Doris has her own small house behind that of her parents which is
up on a mountain top overlooking the San Pedro valley and the Galiuro
mountain. Just below it is the corral.
She has two brothers,
Paul K., jr., a teacher at the Arizona Desert school, and Griggs Dayton,
who manages a Woolworth store in New York City. Plans for the future
are still indefinite for Doris. But whatever is in the future, Doris
claims she will be perfectly happy as long as it is a country future
and she doesn't have to go back to city living.
newspaper clipping courtesy of Caroline Atwill McMakin