In the cowboy world, getting spooked could end in death. A spooked horse could buck a rider off and drag them to their death. A spooked dog could provoke a snake to administer a deadly bite, releasing its venom without thought or reason. A spooked human could ensnare a cowboy’s heart and destroy his life in a single spring.
Cowboys lived on a strange mix of superstition, spirituality, sorcery and survival. There was a cowboy code, but its rules were like quicksilver, its tenets as firm and stable as the downy fuzz at the base of a feather. Keeping a life together amid these ever-sliding nuances was the stuff of desperate magic – cementing some views of the cowboy as the ultimate charlatan – full of charisma and fun – able to charm and win over hearts and heads and other extremities.
The road ever-ahead of a cowboy was one way only – it didn’t allow for turning back, and as such cowboys were remarkably present and of the moment, wholly invested in wherever they found themselves. They entirely inhabited their bodies and their space, becoming one with each in a powerful and unbreakable way. Because of this, there was something rather Zen-like about most cowboys – as risky as it is to paint such unique creatures with such broad strokes.
Cowboys defied categorization as easily as they almost all adhered to the basic principles of cowboy life. A certain irreverence and flippant insouciance meant some people would never take them seriously – the way the most special, the most beautiful, the most unique and remarkable would always need to be banished or brought down.
As sunny as the cowboy’s path might look to the outsider, their internal travels were rarely easy or pretty – they seemed to have a gene for perpetual dissatisfaction, tempered with an equally-pressing insistence on seeing the bright side and humor of any dismal situation. That might be part of having a life endangered more often than most people.
