I could have been a cowboy.
I could have rode a quarterhorse and sung to dogies late at night when the full moon glowed and the coyotes howled the lonesome sound thatsoothed my hurtin’ soul. I could have whooped it up in town with a painted lady, easing the ache of being away from home. I could have been a drover had I made a better choice back in the Panhandle of Texas where the drive started.
The ramrod told me that the chuckwagon rides at the front of the herd, and since eating dust has never been my favorite thing, I became the biscuit roller’s apprentice – not an unwise choice considering I was city-bred and had never ridden a horse.
My job is pretty simple, dish out the chuck at the meal stop and keep the wagon ahead of the herd while Cookie sleeps off the hangover from the night before, or works on the upcoming evening drunk.
We have had beans and beans and beans to eat and some of the guys have threatened to kill me. So I added some fatback this evening. Time to cowboy up, guys. It’s Wednesday.