My oldest rides his sometimes cantankerous pony, moving some cows. She's not cooperating with him and pitches forward, head down and feet splayed, unseating my little boy, who is all of 40 inches tall. He rolls into the dirt, promptly jumps up, and yells, "What has gotten into you!" Gets back on, and away they go.
I watch my 5 year old son, bareback on a big, tall gelding as he trots around and rides like he was born on the back of a horse.
I ride with my boys, a baby strapped to my back, as we move our cows up the road to a new summer pasture.
They proudly proclaim to anyone who will listen,
"We're cowboys! We're not afraid of anything!"
They're brave, strong, determined, and full of fire. They're kind, soft, thoughtful, loving, and willing. Their horses are their mirrors and it's a beautiful thing to see.
My baby girl giggles as the whiskers of her pony tickle her face. I watch her sigh and breathe deep when the horse blows on her, trying to catch her scent. She rides along on our big roan gelding with me, grabbing his mane in two chubby fists and kicking her feet, squealing with delight. This is what it's all about, watching them fill their souls with the life we're building them. Cowboys aren't a dying breed. We're raising the next generation.
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