I went out with my husband Jason yesterday. When I say “out”, I don’t mean on a date. I mean “OUT” in the country, “OUT” away from civilization and Starbucks, “OUT” where men are men and sheep are scared. Well, not quite that far.
Now, you must know that just because I’m married to a cowboy, that does not make me a cowgirl. You know that right? You know that I can’t ride a horse? You know that I can’t rope a steer? You know that my jeans are usually too short to wear with boots?
Okay, as long as we’ve got that straight.
I’ve got this great idea for a book. I’m going to call it Never Blow Bubbles in the Cowpen and Other Lessons From a Dude. The dude being me. The only lesson I’ve learned so far is “never blow bubbles in the cowpen.” In order to bring my idea to fruition, I need more material. So, “OUT” we go.
I knew we were going to get horseback. I told you I can’t ride a horse, but what you may not know is I can’t even get ON a horse. That’s right, I need a boost on the butt.
Here’s my horse. Not my horse, but the one I’m going to bounce around on, because that’s what I do, bounce.
But cattle seem to get a little bit stirred up at times and they don’t go the way you want them too. But remember, I am thinking like a cow. Nothing could go wrong, right? Well, it doesn’t. We do pretty good. Here’s the little guy getting some medicine. Yes, it’s dark by now, because it took us all day. I think Jason slowed me down a bit.
We gathered the bulls, we attempted to gather the bulls, before dark. Things were going okay, I actually trotted a bit and sort of, kind of got into a rhythm. We almost had these bulls where we wanted them to go, when one 2000 lb bully decided he was ready to fight. There was some pushing, shoving, and headbutting, followed by a small stampede, and then the smaller of the two bulls went airborne, double flipped over the barbed wire fence, and landed in a different pasture. I sat there atop my trusty mount, hands over my eyes, peeking through my fingers as Jason chased down the bull, expletives flying through the pasture. We got him though. That bull didn’t have anything on us.
Needless to say, Jason could’ve done all this by himself in about an hour, but instead brought me along for the experience. And I am home with some shot nerves, a sore saddle, and some real ranch dressing on my boots.