Cowboys and tears

There are certain truths in this world. The sun rises in the East and sets in the West. Company never comes calling when the house is clean. And, cowboys don't cry.

It's this last truth that's taken a beating here in the High Plains lately. For example, our friends in Texas--the genesis of the stoic cowboy myth--have had to deal with a lot of devastation left in the wake of a recent slate of wildfires in their state. Since December 2005, 1.3 million acres of Texas have burned, estimates of anywhere between 10,000 and 25,000 head of livestock have been killed, and, most disturbing, 11 people have died. This doesn't even account for the destruction in New Mexico, Colorado, Oklahoma and other states.

Even John Wayne had a breaking point, folks.

Sure, cowboys have to be tough--agriculture's a tough business. We depend on the seasons of birth, life and death for our bread and butter. Hours are spent in the home office planning breeding charts and keeping records. Nutritionists are consulted to ensure our feeder steers gain the most in the most economical manner in the shortest amount of time. And, the changing markets are monitored so that we sell fat cattle at their peak performance and the consumer can have a tasty hamburger at the local cafe.

There is no room for sentiment in any of those decisions. The heart has no place in the ledger book at the end of the day.

But, there's another truth to ranching. Living in working in the environment we do, isolated from a lot of outside interference, there's a lot of time to be alone with one's thoughts and feelings. More than one life-changing choice has been made from the back of a horse, I'd wager.

Cowboys may not cry, but they do have feelings.

Why else would a sane man keep feeding the mangiest cow in the herd way past her breeding prime, just because she was his daughter's first 4-H heifer? What kind of guy would pause to lift his blind, lame and arthritic cow dog into the cab of his pickup for morning chores every day, when it would be just as easy to take a short trip to the vet and ease his pain permanently? What makes a man cling to a worn-out saddle he can't use, even if it had once been his father's favorite? Who else but a cowboy truly appreciates the colors of the uncluttered sky, or the smell of the air right before a summer rainstorm?

It's not duty, or obligation, or even a sense of responsibility to the land--it's heart that makes a cowboy a cowboy.

And, a heart that's big enough to care for old dogs and young children can suffer a lot of pain.

Right now, our cowboy neighbors are faced with unimaginable horrors. In some parts, all that's left in the wake of the fire is blowing ashes and charred carcasses. Generations of work have been turned to dust with the rage of Mother Nature's fury.

We never know how strong we can be, until we need to be strong for a friend who's hurting. Our friends and our colleagues are hurting and we need to step up to the challenge of being strong for them now. Donate feed and hay, fencing supplies, even transportation for those animals that survived the fires. Gather a group of your neighbors and spend a week fixing fence for a rancher or helping him round up and treat his surviving livestock. Pass the hat at the auction barn, the cafe, and your church and mail checks to rural fire departments that desperately need funds for better equipment.

Cowboys may not shed a lot of public tears in the days to come. And, that's okay. There's a time and a place for mourning all things.

But, if ever there was an acceptable time for a cowboy to cry, it would be now.

Jennifer M. Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807, or by e-mail at jlatzke@hpj.com.

Date: 3/28/06

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