My Heroes

My heroes have always been cowboys; men that rode straight in the saddle, they did not ride their horses into the ground. Back shooting was not polite, to face an opponent was more manly, with the sun behind your back. A cowboy helped those on the trail and looked behind every rock for snakes and Indians.

They knew it was best to ride straight to keep the weight on your flexed knees; A horse ridden to death would leave you helpless in the desert. Helping those in need was just driving friendly. Snakes and Indians could not be ignored.

Now turn off the TV, the cowboys today are young guys with fast cars; the Indians have the chips. The snakes are gathered once a year in West Texas. It is a scary event for those who wear tough moose hide boots and have quick hands. They snakes are dropped into a bag and carried to the gathering, skinned and hung out to dry. Ribs are then served. The remaining live snakes slither to Florida where they thrive, multiply and get very large.

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