Just remembered, there is a poem I often recite at Living History Demos that kinda sums it up. don Edwards does a wonderful version to music along with several others, but I can't sing.
Cowboy Song
Pushin' horns wern't easy, like the movis showed was,
I don't remember dance hall girls and hotel rooms with rugs.
Ya worked till you wer hot and tired and nasty and yer ponies head hung low.
There were nights you couldn't sleep, cause it was to danged cold.
And we sang Stawberry Roan and Little Joe.
The time we hit the river, the rain was comin' down,
Water risin' so danged fast, we thought i'd drowned us all.
We lost a lot of steers that day, and 4 or 5 good mounts,
But when all the boys rode in to camp, we knew that's what counts.
And we sang Yi-pi-eye-ki-yi-ay and Amazin' Grace.
The night they broke behind us, and took us by surprise,
I whistled out to Bonner, saw the terror in his eyes.
He rode for all his horse would ride, I know he down his best.
But he crossed over Jordan, ridin' Dunny to his death,
and we sang Bringin' in the Sheaves and Rugged Cross.
When you see the cowboy, he's not ragged by his choice.
Never meant to bow those legs, or put that gravel in his voice.
He chasin' what he really loves, whats burnin' in his soul.
Whishin' to hell that he was born a hundred years ago,
Still singin' Strawberry roan and Little Joe.
For some reason doin' it tends to choke me up a bit, cause I think there is at least a bit of that in all us on this board, otherwise would we be here?
May the real workin' cowboy live on, he ain't the fella of movies and he don't line dance in the bars.
I never mind sweepin' up the dried cow poop from his boots when he comes into the store, the conversation I have with the real ranch hands is well worth it. He's not really a dyin' breed, you just can't often see him from the road.