That's woman's work
Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

By Julie Carter

Chauvinist is a cowboy word. You won't hear them say it, and most likely, without a little help, they can't spell it. However, they live it with a subtlety that defies description.

In the heart and mind of a cowboy, there is a long list of things that fall under the category of “woman's work” and even if they have to be sneaky about it, they are determined to make it her job, forever.

One of the most common frailties he will portray, almost diabolically, is his inability to shop for anything that doesn't involve horses, cattle, roping or tools for his shop.

A well-traveled worldly kind of cowboy I know has navigated remote ranches, big cities that even include San Antonio, South America, Europe, Canada and Japan. He cannot possibly find the toothpaste hidden in Wal-Mart.

This results in a pitiful situation where his bride does all the shopping even if he has just made a trip to town himself.

To further this travesty, he promotes his innocent lack of understanding about shopping by offering to help unload the groceries if she'll just wait an hour while he finishes his urgent task of, oh say, riding his horse.

Meanwhile, with milk, frozen food and perishables standing by, his bride knows he'll be right along as soon as it is all safely put away.

The same principal of innocence is offered if the cowboy has his eye set on a new horse that he is sure he needs to buy for his string.

Justification comes via generosity.

He will gift his bride with one of his current horses under the auspices of her needing an upgrade. He is more than willing to part with one of his prize steeds to help her out. That leaves him one horse short, and almost magically, a replacement will appear.

Sometimes this plotted horse trade will take months because his bride is not as thrilled with the idea as he seems to be. Often it means trading off her old dependable, trustworthy horse to some needy relative who simply cannot do without him. Again, this idea is his.

The trade often involves old women or children to add to the tender nature of the generosity. Tactfully, he will make his bride feel obligated to part with the security of her old horse for the betterment of mankind.

Cowboys and computers find a love-hate relationship where he cannot possibly pull up the bank statement for reconciliation but for a couple years has been able to navigate ropinghorses.com with a knowledgeable dexterity.

The same guy that can mix complicated chemical formulas to spray brush and crops, and even fly the plane to put it on the land, will deny any ability to run a lawnmower, grocery cart, and certainly not the washing machine, dishwasher or microwave.

In the interest of full disclosure, the cowboy hero does offer some redeeming qualities. In the kitchen, he is completely willing to be in complete charge of Quality Control. Usually that entails sampling everything once, sometimes twice, most often in the case of pies.

Other valuable lessons for the cowboy's bride provided by the cowboy include:

---No matter how many exotic gourmet dishes you can make, cowboys prefer chicken fried steak, gravy, potatoes and beans to all the cuisines in the world.

---The best dessert in anybody's book is chocolate cake with gooey icing.

---You can always trust that the market will come up $20 to hit the break-even on any new set of cattle he wants to buy, trust him on that, he says.

---Always get on a fresh horse with his head in the corner so that he can't buck too hard.

---Never say to the wannabe, who might buy that unbroken colt, that his hat is on backwards.

---Always pick your spot with your back to the wind when holding herd.

Recently, this worldly braniac cowboy claimed to not to know how to put mouse D-con in the barn. Some things just are not worth the fight.

Visit Julie’s Web site and updated blog at www.julie-carter.com. Her book, Cowgirl Sass & Savvy, continues to bring laughs and smiles to readers everywhere.


It’s The Pitts: A Little Slow

I don't know about you but I just can't stand people who are intolerant of others. Here we were at night without any headlights, with an overweight load of bulls in the back, on a narrow and windy two lane road, going about 7 miles an hour with 27 cars behind us honking their horns like they were in a Mexican wedding!

Some people just don't have any patience.

It all started when I had a little car trouble and was forced to hitch a ride back home from a bull sale from my good friend Gary. Now, when he was a little boy Gary dreamed of owning a 1956 Chevy. He finally got one in 1996. The Chevy stock truck was a real machine too, going from zero to forty in about a week and a half. But what the heck, I needed a ride home so who was I to be choosy?

To say that the trip was slow was a bit of an understatement. Dogs were still peeing on our tires once we reached our cruising speed. Bicycles even passed us. Needless to say this did not make the ever-growing line of cars behind us very happy. Especially since there were so few places to pass. When there was a brief stretch of open road twenty cars would try to pass all at the same time. As you can easily understand, the drivers of the passing cars were shaking their fists and honking their horns as they went by. I became adept at reading their lips and they were saying cuss words that would sizzle bacon. But Gary was oblivious. He chuckled to himself, thought they were just being neighborly, honked his horn and returned the greeting.

Initially it was a real pleasure trip for us seeing how the wives weren't along. And we were making real good time too. At the rate we were going the bulls might get home before the breeding season was over. We were swapping lies and having a large time as it gradually turned pitch black outside and a gentle rain began to fall.

That's when it happened!

First the radio went dead, then the road ahead disappeared and then our windshield wipers went into the intermittent mode, this despite the fact that intermittent windshield wipers were not invented in 1956.

"I hate it when that happens," said Gary calmly.

"When what happens?" I yelled as Gary slammed on the brakes to let a tree go by.

"The darn alternator is going out again. We'll just have to go on without windshield wipers or the heater and hope we got enough juice to run the headlights. It might slow us down some though."

Meanwhile, the gentle showers turned into a downpour. I was shivering and wondered if I’d die of frostbite or in a head-on collision and I thought I should do something. I offered, "I'll hang out the window and wipe the rain off the front windshield with my handkerchief for you."

"Oh, don't bother. I can't see anyway. Forgot and left my darn glasses at home," said Gary, further instilling a great dread in me that I would not live long enough to apologize to my wife for ever criticizing her driving skills.

Despite the dim headlights every now and then Gary would actually turn when the road did. Meanwhile, the cars were really piling up behind us as we passed several turnouts. But Gary was completely oblivious. When a car would attempt to pass the drivers would lay on their horns but Gary would just laugh and honk back.

I never did really understand Gary's complacency until we arrived at our destination and I got out of the truck. As I kissed the ground I noticed on the back of Gary's 1956 Chevy stock truck was a bumper sticker that read, "Honk, if you're horny."