Books and the purchase thereof are much like going to the carnival: lots of glitter and flashing lights everywhere. Lots of ways to spend your money. Why this ride? Why this cotton candy, and why this particular coney cheese dog? Hunger amidst all the turmoil of activities, becomes a timely endeavor to extend our exploration – staying longer, riding more rides, eating more, until the clock expires or the wallet runs dry. Choices in rides, food, friends, automobiles, vacation trips and even leisure entertainment like books, all comes down to what’s in it for me?" Bang for the buck is a common expression. Value for the dollar is another. Regardless of the subject matter within these books, our choices are made most commonly by three things: perceived value, perceived enrichment, and perceived enjoyment. Our choice as to what we like is personal. Your likes are unique to you. If you like "damsel in distress" stories, murder mysteries, or exploring the galaxies, this book is not for you! If you like to "feel’ the heat waves that cut the air in front of your face, feel comfortable with the dusty accumulation of "grit" across the face, and enjoy the soft sounds of leather rubbing against leather – you just might have found the "lost treasure of Solomon". One needs to know the environment about which we write. Have been hung up, a foot through the stirrup for even a momentwill launch a vast array of "Lord, help me please" thoughts. Having a mad horned cow that you just roped come back up the rope to you, will make million dollar executive decisions seem like moves on a scrabble board. For all the cussing of mesquite trees referred to, they’ve saved more than a few cowboy lives. My own life once, involving a bull that I knew better than to rope – but did’t do better. That wire caught around his foot seemed important until my rope settled around his neck. Then several things suddenly seemed vastly more important than that bit of wire. Before I graduated from high school, no less than a dozen things involving wild cattle could have snuffed out a young life. But if you survive the early learning years, you might just make a cowboy. If I were a great writer, I could create stories involving women, bank heists, murder or Wall Street crime If" I knew one blasted thing about them. I know cowboying. I know cattle. I know reproduction and nutrition, all due to college. I used to be able to tie-down wild cattle in a brushy pasture. I used to be able to ride a bronc. Those two words, "used to", have got a lot of men hurt bad. Like the NFL, age is the enemy. Having played in the early years is a whole lot different than playing in the latter years. Getting hurt becomes a primary concern. If one is worried about "getting hurt", you probably will. Age does that to you. Whether you are a football player, or a cowboy, advancing age changes your game. Indestructible becomes destructible. Maybe they had a crowd to please or were just showing off. Maybe they were just being damn fools. Fools and showoffs live on borrowed time among real cow outfits. Little is lost when they are replaced. Growing up, we kids were likely watched from afar, more than we were aware of, in case we did get into trouble. In the situations I mentioned that was not the case. Only a fool or a young, dumb cowboy who thinks his "shit don’t stink" – does these things and more times than not, gets away with it. SURVIVES until the next time. I find in later years that the Good Lord must have had an arm around me – most of the time I was in the saddle. We, my brother and I, grew up in a bygone era. The time of the absolute last of the true cowboys. Though we were kids, we knew ’em. Tried to act like ’em. Wanted to be like ’em. My dad was a quiet man, mighty quiet. He was a small man. He seemed to prefer a little smaller horse than most. I think maybe (though never announced) that he enjoyed that he could do everything, and mayb
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