Cowboys love big sky and open range. They work hard. He is a man of his word, loyal to his friends and family; treats everyone with respect, especially women. A true cowboy never forgets what’s important: friendship with God, family, friends, meaningful work – and one good horse. He doesn’t measure wealth by money. If a cowboy does these things, he will be a rich man. He is courageous, fearing God and no man.
Peace River
There is an old adage among cowboys about horses: the good ones just get better. Some horses are quick thinkers, light-mouthed, and sure-footed. Some are old souls from the beginning, a babysitter to raise your kids. Then, some are always ready to cut the nearest cow from the herd.
Saddled up and riding through the pasture side by side, he began talking, “Horses are herd animals, Sis, always looking for a leader and direction. If you don’t give them direction, they will become the leader. Don’t be afraid to inflict your will. Horses don’t carry a grudge.” Jacks, a beefy bay horse standing at 15.2 hands, made me feel inadequate next to him. It was my first ride out with Pops in over twenty years. An intermediate rider at best and only riding steadily for about five months, I felt more nervous than comfortable. I didn’t notice how surreal it was.
Own this growing keepsake collection today!
Available locally at the Book Inn, Heaven’s Nectar, and Fayetteville Mainstreet!
or on Amazon!
Own personally from me (signed and shipped!)
From motorcycles to airplanes and woodworking to bush hogging, horses seemed to be who he was, no matter the hobby: horse trailers, corrals, pastures, feed, and tack. The sound of leather and cinches leaves a mark only a cowboy can understand.
Last year, Dad spoke at a Rodeo Bible camp where he got to know all the kids from the seat of his horse, not from the pulpit. Something happens when a seasoned veteran gets in the dirt with you; a bond is created that only a common interest and sweat can bring.
A man rode up beside my father in the arena and said, “You make that hat or find it in the trash?” Immediately, Dad transcended time…
A 7-X was expensive for me
It was all I could afford
I saved my pay and awaited the day till I could welcome it aboard
You see, a hat is more than a covering; it’s a stamp on a cowboy’s life
It reigns supreme as one man said, “Don’t touch my hat, my horse, or wife“
It went with me to the barn
It went with me to the breaking pen
And was there when I hurt my arm
It’s seen the mud and muck
It’s seen the cold, cold rain
It’s been on my head to shield my eyes
It’s been there to hide my shame
The old hat hangs silently now
Its better days have passed
But the memories that it holds for me will forever last
I smiled at the man from under its brim
I thought I might take offense,
but then, I squared my shoulders and spit off the side of my horse
Proudly, I spoke, “I made this hat.“
Jacks decided to show me who was in charge the day I rode out with my dad. This gentle giant reared a bit and crow-hopped, backing me into some brush, along with my confidence. Dad looked at me and said, “Jacks is a bluff. Call him on it, and he will let you take the lead. You can’t let him win.” I can hear his instruction and spurs in my head even when his is not there. His voice of reason comes through clearly.
Afraid and lacking experience, I told Dad I would rather him show Jacks who was boss. Dad obliged, and I heard him say, as he was swiftly and surely administering discipline to Jacks, “What makes you think you can treat her this way?” I smiled, knowing my father was a cowboy on all accounts. More than all other avenues, Dad just enjoyed the ride. It was in his blood—and he was good at it.
Feeling discouraged, I mounted up and rode back to the barn with my dad. Dad knew I was feeling a bit low and encouraged me: “A few more rides on Jacks and a bit more experience all around, and you would have his number. Don’t worry, Sis. We will conquer this fear together next time.” I knew he would keep that promise, and the next time, I would be ready (hopefully).
The day we went out for a ride, he wore a new hat, but the man under it was the same. The old hat now hangs in his office as a proud reminder of what makes a cowboy. I found Dad a bit gentler with me than when I was a young girl. But I knew that strict demeanor was just below the surface—for my own good.
He took Eva for a ride and let Charlotte come close to get to know his horse, and Tyson, well, he was fast asleep in my arms. I knew it was only a matter of time before horses were in my kids’ blood, too.
Leading our horses out to pasture, I watched him ahead of me. Not much had changed other than a few more gray hairs and a short-sleeved button-up shirt. Other than that, his temperament, agility, humor, and ability remained constant. A slight grin crept across my face; the old adage wasn’t just for horses but cowboys, too – the good ones just get better.
Have you given the horse his strength? Have you clothed his neck with thunder? Can you frighten him like a locust? His majestic snorting strikes terror. He paws in the valley, and rejoices in his strength. Job 39:19-21
