 and you'd better speak back when Jake says "Howdy"! His voice is full of gravel; his eyes are dark and deep -- his nose is long and crooked; a pinch of snuff is in his cheek. He's always driven cattle in the dust and in the breeze; he dreads the heat of summer and hates the winter's freeze. His eyes are tired and bloodshot from the sun and from the grit; but ol' Jake never complains; not even a little bit. The ground is his bed, and the sky is his cover; his life is a simple one, not complicated by a lover. He spends a little time sipping beer at the bars; then rides back to the herd, grazing under the stars. He never had a wife; so he never had a kid; he'd rather roam around like he always did. But the years are catching up to the man named Jake; sitting in the saddle's getting harder to take. It's time to settle down and take it easy for a spell; time to find a place for the cowboy to dwell. Time to start sleeping in beds under roofs; time to keep company with something without HOOFS! - Ross Menoher - |