Published
John was a man who kept to himself. The quiet sort some would say. His father, a now older gentleman named Buck, had raised John to be just like him, a cowboy. Ya see, Buck’s dad was a cowboy, and his dad before him, so it only made sense that John wanted the same thing, and that he did.
John always did what he could to play the part. Every morning he woke with the roosters, and every night he fell asleep with his dog at his feet. Each day he started by putting on his blue jeans, a belt with a rather striking buckle, a button-up shirt that held his golden chain, a big cowboy hat, and last, his polished brown boots. This is what his grandfather had always wanted for his son, and what Buck had always wanted for his son; and it’s what John had wanted too.
Well, John woke up one day with the roosters. Pulled up his blue jeans and fed the loops with his belt. He buttoned his shirt and tucked his gold chain, and lastly, went to put on his hat, but today was different. John’s hat was nowhere to be found, and for John, this was a problem. He searched high and low, left and right, over and under, and still, his hat remained lost. His dad had always told him, “Cowboys wear hats,” and he was no cowboy without it.
The only thing left that John could think to do was get in his old truck, drive to the store, and buy another hat. So he drove, and drove, and finally made it to the store. John wasn’t quite himself without his hat, so he made sure to look around before getting out as he feared one of his neighbors, or worse, the girl from the bar that he quite fancied, would see him in this state. Once he confirmed the coast was clear, he got out and walked inside.
After arriving at the counter, still flustered from how the day had turned out up to this point, he pleaded with the man to find him a nice big new cowboy hat. So, the man dug through his stock, and at first, pulled out a red baseball cap. This was not what John wanted, and he made that clear by his expression. The man behind the counter, getting his hint, went digging again. The next hat he uncovered was a pink one, of the correct shape, but it wasn’t really what John had in mind. So the man went digging again, but this time, to no avail, as they hadn’t sold hats of the sort John was looking for, for quite some time.
Just as the worker was getting this across to him, poor John felt a small tug at the bottom of his blue jeans. Looking around fast, as John was not much in the mood for interruptions, he was greeted by a young boy. The boy in question had on blue jeans, a belt held together by a rather solid looking buckle, button-up shirt holding a much too large plated chain, polished brown boots, and a very cowboy looking hat.
The boy looked up at John and said, “Mr. Cowboy, I quite like your truck, my dad has the same one, but I have to ask, why aren’t you wearing any boots?” John then looked down and saw that, in fact, he had forgotten his boots at home. John, surprised he hadn’t noticed up to this point, leaned down and said to the boy “Well, it seems as if you’re right cowboy. I have forgotten my boots at home. I was in a heck of a rush this morning once I realized I had lost my hat, I’m not much of a cowboy without it.” The boy, now meeting John’s gaze, responded one last time, “Well, I was told a cowboy can always ride a horse without his hat, but never without his boots.”
—Connor