KayCee Alameda, former Saratoga Sun editor, asked Dr. Lunt for an interview. He humbly declined. That is the type of man he was. In 2010, she chose instead to write about a memory she had of the man:
“I have literally known Dr. John Lunt my whole life; after all, he came to the Platte Valley area several years prior to my birth, and although I probably didn’t meet him until my first attack of strep, I have known him my whole life.
Dr. Lunt is a humble man, one who declined a full story outlining him and his family’s bountiful contributions to Saratoga and the Platte Valley, yet I could not resist recapping one of my fondest memories of “Doc”.
As a young couple interested in agriculture, my husband Bo and I wanted to become involved in the Wyoming Stock Growers Agricultural Land Trust (WSGALT), a group founded by Dr. Lunt and several others from the Platte Valley. We decided to donate a Welsh Corgi puppy to the auction during the annual barbeque.
When I called Dr. Lunt to tell him our intentions, not only was he thankful, but he came up with the idea that Bo and I might donate ourselves to the auction for a day of “cowboy-ing.” It was a no-brainer decision, considering we had both grown up ranching and would jump at the chance to be in the saddle pushing cows. We called Dr. Lunt and added our names to the items up for auction.
The night arrived for the auction. The Corgi pup was a big hit, and then it came to Bo and my top-hand skills and the bidding slowed. After 10 minutes of bidding, having to painfully draw each bid out, we were sold to a local businesswomen who thought the auction was for her to come learn to “cowboy” with Bo and me. We would have taught her all we knew, but apparently Dr. Lunt actually needed some summer help on his place. He made a deal with the woman that night.
It was set. Bo and I would help Dr. Lunt with whatever he might need done on his ranch, whether it be riding, raking meadows or fencing–we were game.
The day came for me to ride, as Bo had gone to help Dr. Lunt already and he was not available on that particular day anyway. Dr. Lunt called and asked me to meet the crew on Jack Creek. I loaded my trusty steed, Kneehigh, and headed to Jack Creek to move a bunch of cows. Little did I know a short cattle drive would turn into such a memorable event. After all, I had moved a million cattle and once you have seen the south end of one northbound cow, you have seen them all!
The day had an uneventful start. The cows knew where we were headed so we pointed them east down Jack Creek Road toward town. By the time we got to the place where Jack Creek runs under the county road, those cows were thirsty and sick of the flies, so they brushed up in the willows. Dr. Lunt and I split up and began pushing the small bunches out of their hiding holes back towards the road. As my cattle began to head to their original destination, I looked back for Dr. Lunt and saw him walking on foot, not horseback, towards the road. This sent up my “cowboy” red flag, so I spun Kneehigh around and hit a high lope back to my friend Dr. Lunt to check on his welfare, even though he is the doctor of the two of us. When I got there, “Doc” was a little muddy but no blood, so my first question was, “What happened, and where is your horse?”
As it turned out, his horse had bogged down and in the process of struggling to get free became stuck between two small ditch banks, where he was bound on his side. After several dallied attempts to pull Doc’s horse out of the ditch, Kneehigh and I threw our hands and hooves in the air and gave up. Luckily, Dick Hiser came back to rescue us and helped me get the saddle off that horse so he could get to his feet. Aside from a muddy sweater and saddle, Dr. Lunt and his horse were OK, so we caught up with the herd.
Once again, the cattle were all headed in the right direction, and aside from me, there were three or four people helping. Dr. Lunt and I caught up on each other’s lives while slowly heading for the river place in town. I had come down with possibly another bout of strep that week, so I told Doc once we got across the Kerbs’ Ranch I needed to go to a doctor’s appointment I had scheduled the day before. He agreed and we pushed the cattle for an open gate just west of Scott Kerbs’ sheep meadows.
We came to find out Scott had a ram with an identity crisis who decided to join the herd on their trip to town. If you are from cattle country, you know that sheep are not always desirable to cowboys, and apparently the cows have heard this rumor, too. They began to split and run every possible direction away from the ram. As the hired hand of the operation, I decided to take the responsibility of getting this woolly varmint out of the herd. I jerked down my rope and spurred Kneehigh up. After about four circles through the cows, the ram decided against any more track practice or nylon therapy (as if I could have gotten a loop around a zooming ball of wool anyway) and ran back through the fence to his flock.
While trying to get the herd back together in an organized fashion, I caught Dr. Lunt’s eye and he had that unmistakable grin on his face, as if to say, “I cannot believe I paid for this sorry help!”
Luckily, we only had one gate left before I could bolt and save some of the dignity I had left. Of course, as we were bringing the cattle through that final gate, the neighbor’s 1500-pound Watusi steers decide to come visit. No, they didn’t come through the fence like the ram (although they were big enough to) they merely stood there bawling and spooking the life out of my prized “cowhorse.” Right then is when I decided my brilliant decision to sell myself at auction as a cowboy was about to go down the drain. Instead, Dr. Lunt just rode up with his calm demeanor (and muddy horse) and Kneehigh settled down enough to walk by the two steers.
We headed for the trailer and a strep test, when Doc said, “Meet us for lunch at the Wolf when you are done.”
“OK, I will. Thanks,” I replied, not knowing my doctor’s visit would turn into an hour-long ordeal.
As I sat in the patient room waiting on the verdict, the door opens and Doc walks in with a Wolf burger and fries. “Didn’t want you to miss lunch,” he said.
At that point, I realized that Dr. Lunt was one of the finest citizens in the Platte Valley and a true cowboy; he watched me tug on his paralyzed horse, scatter his cattle with a Suffolk ram and nearly get homesteaded by my favorite horse but still cared enough to make sure I got lunch.
Whether his money was invested wisely in Bo and me was not an issue to Dr. Lunt, but the memories and friendship gained was worth every penny (at least in my opinion).
If you know Dr. Lunt, you probably have a similar story, maybe minus the horses, cattle and sheep, and you know that Jackson is getting a gem of a man.
Happy Trails, Doc and Suzie Lunt. We wish you the best of luck and God Speed!”
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