May 5, 2012 § 17 Comments
I mean, I ride a horse, I chase cows, I have a cowdog–but there are a lot of fellows out there that can claim a lot more on-the-job know how and cowboy lineage than I can.
I do work cattle full-time.
I do know my way around a corral enough to not get yelled at. (Much).
I can cut, peel, sort, and herd a cow on my horse…and I have a hat.
That’s about as cowboy as I get.
Until I started my awesome cowboy mustache.
That, pretty much put me on par with about any cowboy there ever was. (In my opinion anyway…if you disagree, start your own blog).
In a fit of Twitterness the other night, a Twitter pal was rhapsodizing about her hair color choices.
Blonde or Red? Be crazy, or Be normal?
It got me thinking…my Lovely Wife isn’t necessarily a fan of the new addition to my face.
I’m a bit skeptical, since she has a pretty dang weird taste in men–but I figured I’d put it to the ultimate test.
You see: Carrie (My Lovely Wife), graduates with her Master’s next weekend. It’s an event we have both been working for, for a really, really long time.
Of course: Her more so than me. She’s the one in school. But–to toot my own horn a bit–it’s been a long road. We’ve been separated for longer than we care for–but sometimes the things you want to accomplish in life are worth more than the sacrifices you make.
Sometimes the sacrifices you make early, will pay off big dividends on the long road.
This part of our lives’ was something we felt that if we could get through–would make our lives’ together easier.
Easier to grow a family. Easier to pay for a family, and easier to continue her irresponsible dog toy purchases.
We’re damn confident this is the case–otherwise we wouldn’t have done it.
But–we’re getting off course.
The important issue at hand is: ‘Stache or No ‘Stache?
It should be said right now, at the get go: Carrie’s decision is Final. There is no way in Holy Hell I am showing up at her Graduation without the proper facial hair. Period.
You people are nuts if you think otherwise.
However… I am just crazy enough to use the court of public opinion to try and sway her.
Maybe my months of sacrifice–being alone on the range…with just Simon, Scout, and my mustache (plus meals from my mother-in-law twice daily) to sustain me will influence her enough to think that my mustache has become part of me.
Part of how I have survived this Grad School Experiment.
Perhaps she will grow to love my mustache as much as I have. A source of sun protection. Warmth…and awesome. A face shield from the dangers that us–only us–my fraternity of cowboys can understand.
The balance falls to you, Dear Readers…To ‘Stache, or Not To ‘Stache. There are no winners.
If my face becomes free from the tentacles of my dear, beloved, comforting mustache–so be it.
If my face becomes the clean-shaven, bastion of innocence and good-looks that my Lovely Wife
got suckered fell for, so be it.
I give you the vote. Yay or Nay.
I have attempted to provide the best photos I can, with ‘Stache, and without…The Winning Side will receive an updated photo before I leave for Carrie’s Graduation.
In all it’s Glory.
Choose with your hearts…
Godspeed Cowdog Blog Readers, Godspeed.
April 26, 2012 § 3 Comments
Over lunch the other day, my mother-in-law told a story of a bridal shower she was at. In lieu of a word game, or an embarrassing dress up party for the bride–the gathered (married) women had to tell a story about an argument they had been in with their spouse–and offer the new bride some advice about it.
An elder woman was first to go. She’s small, has a sing-songy, cheery voice. In my mind’s eye she is “western-grandma”. A diminutive lady–that is always busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest–and has no qualms about kicking yours too.
She started the story about her experience, relating that she and her husband were young. They were “new” ranchers–meaning they had just acquired creatures and land of their own. They were both from ranch families–but as a newlyweds were now giving it a go as a couple. They lived and worked on their place together–miles from the nearest neighbor, and much further to town.
As so often is the case–she didn’t even remember what the argument was about. She just remembered that it was a fight. A real knock ‘em down, drag ‘em out battle that only married couples can seem to accomplish. Things were said, tempers were on overload–and it ended when she had had enough, and walked out the front door.
She wasn’t sure if she was coming back.
She was down the road, and to Hell with him–and their ranch. (Readers’ Note: If you know NOTHING about Western Women know this: She was serious. She’d rather walk to another STATE than go back and concede the fight).
She walked for what seemed like a long time–and was pretty far down the road when she heard the pickup start back at the house.
“Hrrrmpph!” He was coming to get her.
To apologize and make things right. She wasn’t about to let him off easy–but she was glad that she wasn’t going to have to keep walking. Serves him right to come back–tail tucked between his legs and give her a ride home.
As the pickup headlights neared where she was–she may have even picked up her gait.
The pickup stopped, and the door opened.
“Ah–here it comes”. She most likely thought with nary a lick of guilt.
Her husband’s voice rang out clear, and loud over the prairie:
“Here boys! Come on!”
He called the cowdogs back to the pickup, turned around and headed home.
I’m sure my mother-in-law told me the moral of the story–but I was too busy laughing to hear it. I think it’s telling that the woman couldn’t even remember what the fight was about–but certainly remembered her husband calling those cowdogs back.
Good marriages–like good working relationships on the ranch or farm–are always about give and take.
Just don’t take my cowdog.