I am occasionally asked how many cows I have, or where my cows are, or something along those lines. 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 — which they, apparently, consider necessary to be a cowboy.
My standard reply to such folks is that I’ve never owned a cow, but worked for several cattle operations during my younger years, have owned scores of horses, mules and donkeys and have worked off and on as a wrangler, trail guide and hunting guide throughout my life. This generally qualifies me as a cowboy in their minds, and could end the conversation right there. But I always feel obligated to enlighten these folks about cows and cowboys and such things, so that they might be more effective in their efforts to be smartasses.
First off, I tell them that many folks who own cows are referred to as dairy farmers. They don’t often wear cowboy hats. They usually wear ball caps, which doesn’t necessarily mean they are ball players either. They are not likely to own and ride horses, or sit around camp fires on the range drinking coffee and singing cowboy songs. Very few working cowboys own any cows and generally refer to bovines as cattle.
I then remind these aspiring smartasses that I am enlightening them out of concern for how they might be perceived by others, because it is fairly obvious what a smartass would amount to without the smart part.
Actually, I’m not a cowboy. I’ve been working cattle and breaking horses since my early teens, but that doesn’t mean I did it well or correctly. I don’t pass my own standards to qualify as a cowboy. I do have many cowboy skills. Having worked for a large animal veterinarian and rancher in Texas, I learned a lot about handling cattle and emergency veterinary care. The large Charolais bulls having been introduced to the slender Brahma cows taught me plenty about pulling calves, and I became passable at roping a cow in a corral on foot, but not on horseback.
So what is a cowboy? The definition does not often include the typical stereotypes such as rodeo or dude ranch cowboys, although some real cowboys might dabble in such trades. 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 in some eyes, are key ingredients. That and the love of a rugged lifestyle in the great outdoors. This leads me to believe that the most genuine cowboys nowadays can be found in the mountainous West. While many cattle operations in the plains and deserts still use horses out of tradition, pleasure or sport, the mountains provide the terrain that actually requires the horse in an irreplaceable fashion.
A typical cattle operation in the intermountain West will involve some private land, where cattle are kept and fed during winter and calving season, and some high-country grazing leases on federal lands, where cattle are free-ranged during summer months. The summer and winter pastures are often close enough that driving the herd on horseback is the most cost-effective means to move cattle. The summer grazing is, in part, managed by the placement of salt and mineral blocks, which the animals crave and are delivered by pack horse to remote areas otherwise inaccessible.
The fall round-up is when a good cow pony really proves its worth. Locating and moving cattle through mountainous wilderness is extremely challenging. This is where the keen senses and athletic abilities of horses become invaluable. The value of a horse to a cowboy is largely based upon its “cow sense,” an ability to find and outwit cattle to drive them out of their inaccessible safe havens.
The work of a cowboy involves some of the longest hours in often the toughest and most dangerous conditions possible. Any day might involve subduing an angry beast 10 times your weight and that would rather gore, kick or stomp you than be subdued. Most cowboys will enjoy this kind of action and consider it to be a perk. The day always starts before daylight and ends only when the work is done, which might take all night. Calving season always involves many sleepless nights, usually in frigid conditions.
Going back to my teen years helping the vet pull a Charolais calf out of Brahma cow, I was once so exhausted after several nights that while holding down a cow’s head as the vet reinserted and stitched up a prolapsed uterus, I passed out and woke up to find afterbirth and part of a placenta plastered to the side of my face. While most don’t fall asleep in that sort of muck, every cowboy has worn his share of all kinds of slime at some point.
Do cowboys love their horses? You bet! Are they fond of cows? Probably not. I’m sure dairy farmers used to form strong sentimental attachments to cows, especially in the old days when there was much more personal interaction. But even as an extreme animal lover, and having had lots of exposure to cattle, including cute little calves, I’ve never developed much affection toward one. Right about the time they start looking almost cuddly, with their big brown eyes and soft looking muzzles, they demonstrate how their tongue is perfectly designed to reach far into a nostril and clean out the mixture of snot, hay dust and whatever other goobers might reside there — not an attractive sight.
So no, being a cowboy isn’t so much about cows. It’s about horses and cattle, wide open spaces, dense forests and woodlands, deep canyons and tall mountains, river crossings and quick sand, 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.