Hats off

I am occasionally asked how many cows I have, where my cows are or something along those lines. It’s usually asked by someone with an accent from a large city back East. It occurs to me that such folks are trying to be smartasses, implying that I shouldn’t be wearing a cowboy hat if I don’t have cows.

My standard reply is that I’ve never owned a cow but have worked for several cattle operations. I’ve also owned horses, mules and donkeys and have worked as a wrangler, trail guide and hunting guide. This could probably qualify me as a “cowboy” and end the conversation right there. But I always feel obligated to enlighten these folks about cows and cowboys so they might be more effective in their efforts to be smartasses. 

First off, I tell them that most folks who own cows are generally referred to as dairy farmers. These people don’t often wear cowboy hats, likely due to the fact that such hats would not have been very handy in the days when cows were milked by hand. Dairy farmers usually wear ball caps, which doesn’t necessarily mean they are ball players. They are not likely to own or ride horses or sit around campfires drinking coffee or whiskey and singing cowboy songs. Very few working cowboys own any cows, and they generally refer to any bovine buddies they work with as cattle. 

The people that own cattle and hire cowboys are generally referred to as stockmen or ranchers and are not near as likely to wear cowboy hats except for nice, clean ones for social events. I then remind these aspiring smartasses that I am enlightening them out of concern for how they might be perceived, because it is fairly obvious what a smartass would be without the smart part.

In truth, these wannabe smartasses are at least partially right in assuming I’m not really a cowboy. The fact that I’ve been working cattle and breaking horses since I was in high school doesn’t mean I did any of that very well or in a correct manner. I would not even pass my own standards as a real cowboy.

I do, however, have many of the skills to qualify as a cowboy. Having worked in my teens for my brother-in-law, a large animal veterinarian and rancher in Texas, I learned a lot about handling cattle and emergency vet care. I became more skilled at pulling calves than the average cowboy, and while I was passable at roping a cow in a corral on foot, I never learned to rope from horseback – a necessary skill for any real cowboy.

So, what is a real cowboy? For anyone wanting to know, I recommend reading a few Ben K. Green books starting with “Horse Tradin’” and “Wild Cow Tales.” He was an entertaining and informative writer who was also a West Texas cowboy during the depression and drought years.

The definition of cowboy changes over time and geography. It does not include the versions that most folks think, such as rodeo cowboys – generally referred to as “Billy Bobs” by most real cowboys (although a few real cowboys engage in this sort of competition) nor does it include dude ranch cowboys, often referred to as “dandies.”

I believe the notion of a cowboy is inseparable from that of a horseman. Love of horses and freedom, pretty much one and the same, are key ingredients. That and the love of a rugged lifestyle in the great outdoors. The most genuine cowboys in this day and age can be found in the mountainous West. While many cattle operations in the plains and deserts still use horses out of tradition or pleasure, traversing the mountains actually requires a horse. This is also a region where ranchers tend to do more of their own cowboying.

A typical cattle operation in the West will involve private ranch land, usually located in valleys with hayfields where cattle are kept during winter and calving season, and high-country grazing leases on federal lands, where cattle are free-ranged in summer. The summer and winter ranges are often close enough that driving the herd on horseback is the most cost-effective means to move cattle. The summer grazing patterns are managed by the placement of salt and mineral blocks, which the animals crave, and are delivered by horse to remote areas.

The fall round-up is where the superior sight, hearing and sense of smell of a horse, as well as its athletic abilities, become invaluable. And the value of a cow horse to a cowboy is largely based upon its “cow sense” – the ability to find and outthink cattle.

The work of a cowboy involves long hours in tough and dangerous conditions. A routine day might involve subduing an angry beast 10 times your weight who would rather gore, kick or stomp you. Most cowboys enjoy this and consider it a perk. 

Going back to my teen years helping my brother-in-law, I was once so exhausted during calving season that I passed out and woke up to find afterbirth plastered to my face. Gross but true. And while most don’t fall asleep on the job, every cowboy has worn his share of muck at some point.

Do cowboys love their horses? You bet! Are they fond of cows? Probably not. Even as an extreme animal lover, I’ve never developed much affection toward them. Right about the time they start looking almost cuddly, with their big brown eyes, they demonstrate how their tongue is perfectly designed to reach far into their own nostril and clean out whatever goobers might reside there.

So, being a cowboy isn’t so much about cows. It’s about horses and cattle; wide open spaces and dense forests; deep canyons and tall mountains; river crossings and quicksand; intense thirst and hunger. It’s about a free-ranging lifestyle full of hardship, danger, beauty and wonder. But all of that isn’t really necessary just to wear the hat.