A Case of Mistaken Identity

Cowgirl.

** defined as: "a hired hand (in this case, female) who tends cattle and performs other duties on horseback". **

I guess you could say I qualify (or qualifi-ed) by definition.

I was raised on a ranch. Or... well, not technically 'on' that ranch, but 3 miles away from it.

And I was a hand - although not a hand hired in a paid sense, a hand hired in the birthed-to-be-raised sense - who tended cattle and performed other duties on horseback (and sometimes, not).

Yes, I know how to ride a horse. I know how to saddle and bridle a horse. I even know how to clean a horse's hooves.

Yes, I had my own horse. And yes, I even had green pastures to ride that horse in.

Yes, I've ridden in a rodeo, a few rodeos.

Yes, I know how to ride a horse and rope a cow.

Yes, I can herd cows - at a walk and at a gallop, thru small pastures and large expanses.

I can heel a cow and drag it to the 'fire' - the branding fire.
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I can inoculate a cow.

I could probably even castrate a bull calf (I've been nose to 'toes' with that process more than just a handful of times, and so, in the case of an emergency - ie: someone hands me the knife and clamp OR for self-defense! - I could walk myself through it).

I've bottle-fed newborn calves, dumped buckets of slop out for fattening pigs, even held the head of a horned-sheep while it was being slaughtered. (yes, it's true)

I've drug logs around an arena - both to 'grade' the dirt and to 'toughen up' my legs.

I've dug post holes and tampered down fence posts.

I've strung barbed-wire fencing - 30 acres worth. I was 9 years old.

I've pulled weeds, more weeds, pastures of weeds.

And on rainy days, I've oiled saddles, coiled ropes, and sharpened knives.

BUT...

I do not identify myself as a "cowgirl". Why?

Because every time I read a story about cowgirls, or see a movie portraying cowgirls (or cowboys, for that matter), or hear the tales of other cowgirls I know or have met... they are happy tales.

Happy trails, happy tales.

BUT

Mine are neither happy trails or happy tales.

Yes, I realize I am fortunate to have had the chance to grow up 'on' the ranch, in the country, with wide-open spaces, green pastures, and around animals.

And yes, I like to ride horses - for leisure.

BUT

I would rather have been gathering eggs, picking vegetables and tending the garden.

I would rather have been learning to crochet, knit, or sew; to bake cookies, pies, or bread; to cook hot, comforting, stick-to-your-ribs meals.

AND

Maybe it's more the truth that I would rather have been lounging in the bay window of a townhouse reading a good book (ok, maybe not even a good book, just a book - ink on paper).

I would rather have been sitting in a theatre watching a play (musical theatre or opera, at that).

I would rather have been strolling thru a museum (art, science, living history).

SO

Yes, when I hear the word 'cowgirl', I get nostalgic for the storybook version. Yes, I could be happy to live that version. And yes, I will gladly continue to read my daughters happy tales about happy trails.

But in the light of reality, I guess you could say I'm really just a city girl.

It's a tragic case of mistaken identity. One that my parents, I can guarentee, are mourning - maybe more so than even me.