It's kind of amazing, perhaps even a little scarry, that even at a very young age you realize that one fascination will stay or sometimes even haunt you for the rest of your life.

Such is me and the romance of the American cowboy.  Yah, my grammar isn't the best, so get use to it right away.  To this very day, I can remember when I pulled on my first ever pair of jeans, I said out loud, "these are what cowboys wear".  I was hooked.

What made this seem totally odd was the fact that I lived in the city, two blocks away from the freakin' airport no less. The closest I ever came to a horse was the Merry-go-round at the State Fair.  Little did I know that was about to change.

One night at supper, my parents told my older sister and I that we were moving.  To a thirteen year old girl that kind of news is devastating.  To a ten year old boy, it's the beginning of an adventure.  Two months later, we took up residence in a farm house on twenty acres just outside of a sleepy little town in southern Minnesota.  My sister cried for weeks on end.  I quickly made a lot of new friends and got  into more mischief than I care to admit to.   That saying about being taken to the woodshed took on a literal meaning many times over.

My sister never recoverd from this moving business, and put up such a fuss that my parents agreed that she could move back to the city and live with my aunt and uncle in civilization.  Me, on the other hand, I got my first job at a horse boarding place just west of town.   It was nothing more than cleaning out stalls, unloading hay, feeding horses and stuff, and despite only working there on weekends, my imagination viewed it as the first step to becoming a fullfleged cowboy. 

I became good friends with Tyler, a dude who worked there full time.  Ty was eighteen at the time, and never minced his words.  Man, he gave me a real hard time at first, teased me about everything, but eventually I learned how to give it back to him.  One Saturday afternoon, after we finished working, he told me to saddle up a horse and bring it to the corral.  I never gave it any thought, until he told me to "mount up".   My mouth must have hit the ground.  I was both thrilled and nervous.

It was my first riding lesson.  I bounced around like one of those rubber balls attached to a ping-pong paddle.  Tyler could not contain himself, and instead of being helpful, laughed his head off.   I finally shouted some unpleasant words his direction, pulled back on the reins, jumped off the horse, walked up to him, and hit him with a closed right fist to his stomach.   Several seconds later, I found myself airborne, and thumped uncremoniously to the ground.   I got up, and with tears in my eyes, got on my bike and rode home vowing never to go back there. 

The following Monday afternoon, when I got home from school, Tyler's dark blue Mustang was parked in our driveway.  He was leaning against it, in his usual punk like stance, drinking a can of Coke.  I asked him what he wanted.  He told me to get in the car.  Fifteen minutes later, we were back at the boarding stable, and I was on horseback.   It took me several months to really get the hang of riding, but I got real good at it.  So much so that Tyler even bought me my first cowboy hat as a graduation gift. 

Fast forward eight years; childhood innocence lost, relationships injured, the uncertainty of adulthood and life's turmoil at my doorstep.  It all happened so quickly, that it's hard to phathom. One minute you're walking home from school with hardly a care, and the next, your wondering what to do with your life before that last big adventure.  And so it happened.

In those eight years, I had to learn to deal with death, how to get along with a brother-in-law who I hated,  the dwindling relationship between father and son, and all the noise that went along with it.  The only solace I found was still at the boarding stables.  There was no pressure there; no what are you going to do with your life lecture, no confrontational arguments, no anything period.   I wasn't blind to the lectures and arguments, I just got sick of them.

July, one of those hot humid days where you wished it would snow.  I was watching this dude put his horse through it's paces snapping a lunge whip.  For some odd reason everytime it cracked, it felt like it was coming down on my bare back, urging me to do something with my life.   I must have been staring too long or something, but before I knew it, the dude was walking towards me, snapping the whip in my direction.  Out of the blue, he asks me what I was so deep in thought about.  I frowned at first, but came back with the obvious line, "nothin".   To my surprise, he wouldnt let it go.  He introduced himself as Lee Fleming.  He spent sometime in the rodeo, but after a couple injuries, called it quits.

A half hour later, he's buying me a burger and beer.  It was one of the strangest experiences I've ever had, because it was like this guy knew exactly what I was going through.  I mean, at times, I just sat there with my mouth open, knowing exactly what he was going to say next.  There were two things I walked away with that night, one was to live out a dream before it was too late, and the other, well, it's private. I went home that afternoon and scowered the internet, determined to live out that cowboy dream of mine.

I don't know how many sites I visited, until I came across a ranch in Southern Idaho, looking for an experienced ranch hand.  The job was only going to be for three months, starting in September.  Yah, I know, I was far from experienced, but I was not about to let this opportunity pass me by.  If need be, I'd frickin' lie, which is exactly what I did.    

 I'm not sure how I pulled it off, but after talking to the ranch foreman for a couple weeks, he hired me. I let out a wild cowboy yell after I hung up, scaring my dad half to death.  When I told him what I was going to do, he took in a deep breath and with a quizical look on his face, smiled and laid down the law.  In one more lecture, he told me to "get this cowboy crap out of my system once and for all, and when you get back home, you're going to make something of yourself or you can move out".  It soured my mood immediately, and I left. 

 I headed off to Tylers place.  Tyler had much of the same reaction as my old man, but sobered up when his wife, Vicky, hit him on the back of the head.  He asked me if I knew what I had gotten myself into, and brought up several things, I never thought about, like roping, branding, castrating a steer, etc.  My confidence in pulling this off was rapidly disappearing.  "Dude, can't you teach me?", I asked.  After making a bad joke about leaving  his private parts out of it, he told me he knew someone who could help.  Man, I was shocked when I found out who it was.

Two days later, I met up with Tyler at the stables.  The Lee was there going another round with this horse.  "So where is this guy? I wanna get started," I said.  Tyler nodded to the dude in the corral.  "You're kiddin...".   He wasn't.  "So, you wanna be a cowboy," Lee joked walking up to us.  I shook my head and laughed.  It was the last time I did for a while.

From the start, I learned quick like that Lee was a strict task-master, with no time to anykind of levity period.  Those first couple roping lessons were shear hell.  Yelling and screaming at me, like some demented drill instructor.  When I yelled back that he wasn't helping, he was in my face.  Yah, it sorta scared me, but I wasn't about to back down, that's not my nature.

To my surprise, he backed off.   We walked inside his place, and he grabbed two beers. That's when he explained to me that even though a cowboy has to depend on himself, he also has to learn how to take orders, even if he doesn't agree with them.  You can express your opinion, at your own risk, but the foreman always has the last word.  I looked around the place, hey, it's only natural.  He had a lot of expensive stuff, at least it looked that way.  Pictures of his family every place. Unfortunately, I opened my big mouth and found out he was divorced.  Curiously, hanging on his wall was a bullwhip.  I picked it up, "Maybe ya oughta use this on me out there," I joked.  "Don't tempt me," he replied.  I quickly hung it back up. 

The lessons went on for a couple more weeks, and I finally got the hang of it, not to the point where I'd call myself an expert, but I could hold my own.  The next step was learning how to rope from the back of a horse.  That - took a lot of time, which was running out for me.  It was now late August, and I had to leave in a couple of days in order to make it to Idaho by the second week of September. 

The day I left for Idaho, my heart was beating so fast, I was sure people could see it.  Frankly, I wasn't sure I could pull this off.   I knew I had to look somewhat authentic, well, what I thought authentic looked anyway.  I stopped shaving, and had a decent looking beard and 'stache.  I kept my hair cut short.  I never liked it long anyway.  I bought some grungy looking Wrangler jeans off of Ebay, packed a couple pairs of 501's and Levi jacket, roughed up my one and only hat, bought two pairs of chaps, and took two ropes that Lee gave me.  I was set.   What I couldn't pack was courage. 

To say I was intimidated when I met the ranch foreman was like an understatement.  Here was this gruff looking dude in his late forties, giving me the once over when I stepped out of my truck at the motel in town.   I'm not going to go into names and stuff, because I don't know whether or not it would be appreciated or open me up to some kind of freaky lawsuit.  I'll just call the foreman, Hank.  Hell, there's always a 'Hank" on a ranch anyway, isn't there?

I knew Hank had called my "references" when we first talked about him hiring me on.  I'd begged and pleaded with Tyler to go along with me, and he got the owner of the boarding stable to go along with us.  Hank sized me up for about an hour before we headed out to the ranch.   He told me that I'd be working with 6 other guys, and that there was only one about my age.  He was single and I'd be bunking with him.  His name was Sully. 

Tomorrow, Day 1 and beyond.....