Me More Cowboy Than You

Has anyone else noticed that the whole world has picked up the cowboy craze again?

And yes, I mean again. It was well documented in the 90s when everyone wore bolo ties, boots, and mullets. It was well documented in the 50s just before the space race. It was well documented in the 30s once silent films became talkies. Seems to be on a schedule I guess. 

I, for one, love to see it. In my opinion, everyone is much more attractive and smarter looking when they were large belt buckles, plaid, and the ol Cattleman crease.

Have you heard that song on the social media lately? The one that goes:

Me, me, me, me, me more cowboy than you.

I swear that I'm working class through and through

If you haven't heard it yet, I have no idea what rock you've been hiding under. It's been stuck in my head for months. Those Brudi Brothers have a prolific algorithm to go with their sharp senses of satire.

The tone of the lyrics just outright smack of the Bob McDill-penned, Alan Jackson-rendered Gone Country from my youth. Or even I Was Country (When Country Wasn't Cool) from my dad's youth. 

So have you noticed it? The world yearns to be cowboys and cowgirls again. There simply must be something ingrained within our very DNA that compels us implicitly to head for the barn and chew on hay. What's not to love about being everyone's hero, being a dependable and cool-headed member of a posse? Why wouldn't everyone try their hardest to cast long shadows of integrity and grit? But best of all, doesn't everybody think belt buckles are cool?

Fortunately for me, I've never been yanked around by the frivolous fads of society. Like Barbara Mandrell says, I was doing all these things whether or not they were considered cool.

I was wearing belt buckles when kids my age had those swoopy haircuts and were listening to Fireflies by Owl City. I was feeding cows before the movie Avatar was released to theaters. Unfortunately, it wasn't on MY ranch. I didn't have a ranch then, I was on a friend's ranch. Him more cowboy than me. Me still don't have ranch. Him still more cowboy than me. But back to me point:

All my life, I've looked down my little sunburnt nose at the blue alien loving crowds of people and boasted with "Me more cowboy than you". All my life, they've looked down their little noses at me saying "Why haven't you seen Shrek, it came out in theaters decades ago?"

And now that its popular to wear cowboy jeans in public again it's so hard for schmucks like me to stand out from a crowd. What's worse I look....trendy!

GAG!

I may not be the most cowboy person on the planet, and I'll certainly never be the most hip, but I'm thankful that cowboy culture has come around once again. Y'all are really looking good these days. I'll be right here when the fad comes back again. 

Happy trails, pilgrims.

Learning the Easy Way

"I had to learn THAT the hard way," you say to your friends or colleagues, after you detail some harrowing experience that was due only to your uninformed misstep. Everyone chuckles and takes your timely wisdom to heart. Then off everybody goes, on their merry way like usual.

But did I ever tell you about the thing I learned the easy way? Well, allow me:

I found myself, one pleasant winter day on the Trails End Ranch in scenic Silverado, California. Lately, I've had the amazing opportunity to learn the noble art of cattle sorting from some very experienced riders. I've done a small share of horse riding in the past, but nothing too much more than a trail ride. My experience would be what some would call "tenderfoot", which is just a funny way of saying n00b.

The concept of cattle sorting is very simple: you and one other rider alternate between guarding a corral "gate", and riding into a herd of cattle to pick one and only one out to guide it into the corral. This continues one at a time until all the cattle are in the new pen. Easy.

I sat on the back of a lazy ol' horse named "Rip," who is scared of waving flags, strangers, and hard work. Getting him in and out of the pen was comical in itself as all the other cowboys shook their heads when I reprimanded the horse multiple times saying inspirational things like "C'mon, c'mon, he's getting away...he got away...and all his friends with him." Thanks, Rip.

But one cowboy had faith in me. "You want to ride my horse?" What a beautiful animal she was, too. Tall, sandy brown, and muscular, "Jewels" stood gallantly awaiting my commission. As I settled into the saddle, the wise cowboy said, "Now just remember, she's a finely tuned horse, kinda like a—"

"A mustang?" I asked, thinking of a car and not thinking of how stupid I sounded comparing a horse to a horse.

"She's like a Porsche, very responsive to little effort," he said, not hearing how stupid I was.

Sure enough, Jewels was miles ahead of Rip. I practiced turning her around and found that she spun on a dime and gave Rip the change. It was time to put her to the test.

I lined up, awaiting my turn to enter the pen once more to sort cattle. As I was waiting, a thought crossed my mind.

"Hey, how do you back up with her?"

"Oh, it's simple. Just give a little rein and heel like so."

Simple it was. While waiting my turn, I had Jewels walk forward and backward in a single file line to practice. I felt good. I felt too good.

The pen opened and Jewels and I entered. I knew what I was there to do. Jewels had no clue what I was thinking. In my defense, in the heat of the moment, a cowboy has to make quick decisions about when to turn, which calf to cut, which to block, and has to make sure his horse knows too.

Left, right, forward, backward, stop, go, go faster, stop faster—I don't know how many signals I gave poor Jewels, the Porsche of Ponies, in just 10 seconds, but she had seen enough. Completely done with my amateurish indecision, she did something I've never had a horse do to me before.

She ran backwards.

And I do mean she RAN backwards. All the cowboys on the fence were shouting "Go forward!" and that sounded just fine by me. However, Jewels was done taking orders. No matter what I did, she only did one thing: run backwards.

Before I could come up with a game plan on changing the mind of a horse (which preliminarily only included leading one to water), she hit the fence, getting everyone's attention. Now all eyes were on me: the cowboy who lost control of the most finely tuned saddle pal there could be.

When smashing into the fence didn't rid her of the confusing cowboy in her saddle, Jewels did two very sharp crow hops, loosening my feet from the stirrups. Then, with one mighty rear, she reared a rear so reared that I slid all the way to the ground on my rear.

By now, my thoughts consisted of "this is fun" and "being trampled to death would end my fun," and I scrambled on my elbows and heels toward the fence, dodging the frantic hooves of a beast that was over me and my kind for good. Jewels didn't want to muck up her shiny shoes with my guts either, so she got away from me as fast as she could. Neither of us were hurt, and we certainly didn't score that round... all the cattle got away. Disqualified.

Since then, I got back with ol' Rip and we've come to an understanding. I have 100% of my instructions down like a fine science, and he agrees to comply with 60% of them. We are happy. We still DQ three out of four matches. Nice to be reliable.

The moral of the story is this: indecision is the quickest way to get thrown to the ground. Getting thrown to the ground hurts your rear.

I learned that the easy way.

Day of the American Cowboy

Could there be any more iconic example of all that is America than the cowboy?

Not only do I love starting blog posts with questions (hooray for online engagement), I love reflecting on my heritage as a long-time Western aficionado. For those of you who have never studied it before, an aficionado is like a really big fan of something. Or "avocado" with an Italian accent. Either one. 

Let's consider for a moment this symbol of American strength, this pillar on which American legend has grown and thrived, the avatar of that which the world envies to have.

The origins of cowboy culture couldn't be a more clear parallel to America herself. The outcast members of society (Irish, Mexican, namely) found their path to glory in the cattle industry, risking life, limb, and worse, comfort (shudder) to provide not only for their families but for the whole country. You know how we love our beef around here.  

What happened next will shock you. 

Or maybe not. Trying for online engagement again. But the "cowboy" became an American archetype that is a perfect meld of those diverse cultures. Just look at the lingo:

Doggie - n. DOH-ghee; a calf, from the Irish word. "Get along little doggies".

Hacienda - n. HA-zee-EN-duh; a ranch house, from the Mexican word. "C'mon by the hacienda for grub." 

My poor fingers would fail me to type up the complete, detailed history of cowboys. It's way more intricate than I let on. But like America, a bunch of scrappy nobodies overcame all odds to become extraordinary, world-wide legends, etched into the walls of history forever.

But beyond the historical period of the Wild West, which only was a thirty-year period from 1830's to 1890's, the cowboy enjoyed a once-in-a-generation spotlight with the TV Cowboy that captured the hearts of kiddos everywhere.

Who could forget Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, The Lone Ranger and more? Everyone wanted to be them. And all that besides, parents were comfortable with their ideals and morals of honesty, kindness, bravery, and standing up for the little guy. Classic. Heartwarming. America. (cue the screeching of an eagle)

I brag about it all the time, but my grandad was a cowboy briefly in his younger years. That's enough to make this ol California boy feel proud. I can't help but feel a connection to my childhood heroes and their horses. 

Here is your country. Cherish these natural wonders, cherish the natural resources, cherish the history and romance as a sacred heritage, for your children and your children's children. Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches, or its romance.
--Teddy Roosevelt

I honor this part of my national and familial heritage every day of my life. On my desk at work, I have a portrait of Theodore Roosevelt, a cowboy once himself, jumping a fence on his horse. I have a sculpture by Michael Garman of a cowboy preacher with a gun in his belt and a bible in his hand. I wear boots to every function and belt buckles on my pajamas. Well, that might be hyperbole--but online engagement being what it is these days...

This is what I mean by being a western avocado. I mean aficionado. Sorry. My accent. Today is Day of the American Cowboy and chances are high that I will be donning my stetson, attending a rodeo, and saluting the cowboys that built our country, our culture, and our families. 

If you share my love of this, tell me who your favorite cowboys are. Bonus points if you can name their horses.