The Last Cowboy

Sawdust splayed up into the air as Bud’s horse loped around the small arena—faster and faster. He was hoping to get a good price for her. He often bought and sold horses through the Bristow Horse Auction in Oklahoma. In the program, his mare was listed as “kid safe”. I guess Bud should have let a kid ride her then, for of a sudden, he was standing on the auctioneer’s podium looking out at the crowd. His “kid-safe” horse threw a buck so vicious, it knocked Bud into the air, flipping him several times before he found himself standing on the auctioneer’s podium. When he realized what had happened, he pulled his invisible skirt out to the sides, smiled and curtsied to the crowd. He was an instant hit.

Bud was a real cowboy, at least the most real cowboy I ever met. No, not like John Travolta in “Urban Cowboy”. Bud had worked ranches off and on throughout his younger years, and was never without a herd of horses himself. He bought auction horses, rode and trained them, then off to the sales they went. Like most old-time cowboys, Bud had plenty of stories but was short on the expression of emotion. And like many old-time cowboys, he had no teeth. This, however, was never a distraction. It only added to his cowboy allure—and once he looked that word up in the dictionary, he vehemently denied having any.

All the same, he was a striking figure in his black cowboy hat pulled down over his forehead. Curly hair poked out below his hat, cupping around his ears. His beard and mustache hid the vacancy of teeth in his mouth, but did nothing for my ability to understand him. A friend once imitated Bud through the Jodie Foster character Nell from the movie of the same name….”Tay-ay in the win…” Yep, it took a while to master the language of “cowboy”, until one day I could hear and understand every word.

Before Bud married, I was between jobs when he asked me to accompany him on the rodeo circuit. He needed the help and the company. I enthusiastically agreed. There were long hours of listening to "ta-dum, ta-dum, ta-dum” from the tires as we rolled across hot pavement and melting tar. Mercedes, Texas; Montgomery, Alabama; Cheyenne, Wyoming—ta-dum, ta-dum, ta-dum.

It was his turn to drive. I sank into the passenger seat then laid my head half out the window and watched the shadow of the horse trailer as it raced along with us. Wavy lines of heat rose into the air, mesmerizing me, luring me into sleep. The dark slowly enveloped me as I dropped into peace and well-being and then nothing. I came awake when the truck suddenly lurched and tossed me about. My eyes flipped open but after I checked to be sure we hadn’t wrecked, I settled back into watching my sunbaked hand ride the wind. All was well with the world. Up and down, up and…..”HOLY CRAP! BUD! BUD! BUD! There’s no shadow, there’s no shadow. STOP! STOP!”

Bud stomped his brakes throwing the contents of the back seat forward, nearly crushing me under one of his massive saddles. We both tore open our respective doors and raced to the back. No trailer, no horses, no saddles, no blankets. Bud stood scratching his head while my crisis training kicked in and I ran around screaming, “Oh no, oh no, oh no!” We quickly scanned the horizon in every direction. No trailer, no horses, no saddles, no blankets. Bud turned the truck around and we slowly drove back to the last town we had passed through, all the while scanning the horizons on either side. Still nothing. We drove slowly through town with me imagining the worst. I was nearly hysterical when we spotted the trailer.

Bud knocked on the screen door and when an older gentleman in overalls answered, Bud asked, “Sir, would it be okay with you if we get our horse trailer?” I’m not sure what this older gentleman heard, but I dropped like a sack of cement when I saw him reach around the door and bring back a shotgun he had cocked and was leveling at us. I quickly turned interpreter and started shouting as plainly as I could pronounce Bud’s request. Recognition spread over the man’s face as he realized we weren’t there to repossess his house. A smile appeared as he asked, “What horse trailer”? Bud motioned him to follow us and as we rounded the corner, there was the horse trailer. It had come loose in town, traveling some distance before it turned down this man’s driveway. It had rolled to within three feet of his garage door and stopped. The horses were standing up sleeping (horses often sleep standing up) and the saddles and blankets were neatly stored in the tack room just as we had left them. This was my first experience with the magic of Bud.

As other parts of the nation view Oklahoma as full of cowboys, Indians, ranchers, and hillbillies, backward in every way, a great deal has to be overlooked to maintain such a shallow view of any section of humanity. What people don’t seem to understand is, any judgment we make about others must, by its very declaration, shut out all other impressions. What we see is not reality. We see only what verifies our view, especially if it is an emotional trigger.

Many of these cowboys, Indians, ranchers, and hillbillies live in a semi-natural world. Their daily life is full of the smell of deep rich earth and expansive horizons. They feel the alert wildness in the coyote and the wonder of a sidewinder as it races down a dusty road. These are not the alt-right. These are the salt of the earth, quietly going about their lives. They were here, planting their questions deep in the ground, finding slow-building granite answers, long before cities and rules of law. Their roots are locked into something long forgotten—the common sense that vibrates with the earth’s own natural cycles. No one needs to tell these people how to act or what behavior is acceptable. They spread dignity and decency with every footfall as they pass you on the sidewalk. Their quiet souls have full view of everything good and decent in human beings and are shocked when others seem blind to it.

Bud? Time and time again, his quiet soul seemed to influence reality itself. I will never understand how that trailer drove itself through town until it spotted a safe place to land. This wasn’t the last crisis ending in magic around Bud. He just seemed to carry magic with him.