While a journalism professor at the University of Wyoming when I wore a younger man’s clothes, I became close friends with a bowlegged, hardheaded cowboy. Seeing us together on the streets of Laramie, folks would holler, “Here comes the cowboy and the professor.” My city slicker self had never ridden a horse, much less herded a cow, before meeting the legendary cowboy. Since then, I have saddled many a cow pony and earned my spurs in spirited roundups across five states with him.
My first wrangling match was on a blustery, bitterly cold, snow-spitting day in early June on the Laramie high plateau. Astride a high-octane mustang, I stared out at the swarm of horns, pounding hooves, and hind ends of rust-colored cattle ramrodded by the legend. When the lead cow abruptly bolted toward open range, the champion pro rodeo bronc rider, anticipating the move, intercepted her with the aptitude of an NFL defensive back.
