The Truth About Cowboys
Posted on January 15, 2006 by jonners99
There are three kinds of cowboy. None of them are the dashing rugged-jawed heroes Hollywood presents. They do wear big hats and their spurs click and jingle. They often carry guns, but never wave them around. Cowboys are not to be confused with farmers, mountain men, or any other rural workers, either. Here’s the truth about cowboys:
The first kind of cowboy is the Mexican vaquero. He is 30 years old and has two small sons with him He speaks English only because his sons learned it in school (he prefers Spanish). He is generally clean shaven – he may have a Pedro-esque mustache – and well-dressed compared to other Mexicans you see around. That’s because he has more money than other Mexicans you see around.
All cowboys are rich. They keep coins in one pocket, tobacco in the back, and hundred dollar bills in silver billfolds in the other. They own hundreds of acres of mountainside evergreens and prairie grass and dusty cactus flowers. They spend $500 on a hat and $5000 on a horse.
The second kind of cowboy is in his sixties, but still spry. He has a large belt buckle, a large hat, a large stomach and an enormous mustache. His sprawling ranch in Texas or Oklahoma has been gushing oil for thirty years and his stockyards are filthy with McDonald’s burgers waiting to be slaughtered. He’s retired from working the ranch, though, so has more time to flirt with young waitresses and cowgirls. And flirt he does. He gained wit with along with weight, and though all cowboys are polite, he likes to tease and entice. Waitresses smile at him because they have to. Cowgirls do not have to smile, so they don’t. Usually.
The last kind of cowboys is in his late teens or early twenties. He has big, rough hands and a smooth face. He buttons his shirt all the way up. His mother taught him to behave chivalrously, but he’s more comfortable crooning to his horse and singing into the mountain wind than whispering to girls, so he doesn’t say much. He’s a hard worker, and can, if you get him talking, tell you everything you’d ever want to know about livestock, snow patterns, desert scrub and his mama’s pie.
There is only one kind of cowgirl. Any woman with a jacket proclaiming “cowgirl” is not a cowgirl. She might be a rancher’s daughter, a farmgirl or a southern senorita, but a true cowgirl can be spotted for who she is.
She is glamorous. She is blonde – always – and though thin or heavy, beneath her bangles, fringed, beaded jacket, her unbuttoned blouse reveals something to make all the kinds of cowboy turn their heads. She wears lots of glittery accessories and lots of glittery makeup. She has a thick drawl and liked to call people “honey.” She drinks a lot. She’s mostly “too good” for a cowboy, though she’ll hang on one’s arm decoratively if she’s drunk or he’s promised her something. She will only marry a cowboy, and will spend the rest of her life spending his money and complaining about him. Somewhere beneath the jacket, blouse, and eye-catchers, though, she knows he is good enough for her and they were made to be together.
When these four species meet and mingle, the air fills with debate about quarter horses verses painted horses and heartbreaking, guitar-twanging harmonies. Then boots stamp out line dances, leather hats bob up and down, bottles of Coors and Jack Daniels slide over the counter, tubes of lipstick are squeezed out, and many hundred of dollars flutter through fingers. That’s the truth about cowboys.
