They cared not for the future. They cared not for the past.
They cared not for tradition, and so, the die was cast.
They only thought of conquering the people, so they planned
To starve them to submission before they took a stand.
They hunted down the buffalo. They killed them for their hide.
They killed them just because they could, and millions of them died.
They killed them just for pleasure and never gave a thought
Tothe impact of their slaughter, and what their carnage wrought.
And, only now, we understand what the ancient people knew.
That, the One who made the buffalo, is the One who made us too.
The Creator had a reason. The Creator had a plan.
So that all things He created were for the good of man.
And the ancient ones remind us in their stories and their songs
That the buffalo kept man alive in times that have since gone.
The warnings of our ancestors today are coming true
They said you'll have to pay and now the Buffalo bill is due.
We must learn from our failures or the cycle will go on
And we will just eliminate what we depend upon.
So, be cautious of the earth and streams. Make sure the sky stays blue
Or the next things that may go extinct, my friend, are me and you.

—Jeff Hildebrandt, Englewood, Colo.

We love 'em, those fast, bad horses.
Like a drug, through our veins it courses.
We love 'em, more than our own health.
More than financial security or even wealth.
We love 'em; there's no known cure.
Our days are hay, grain, sawdust, and manure.
We love 'em, though few of us get rich.
We get broken bones, mangled joints, or an
unexplained twitch.
We love 'em and will follow them anywhere.
Have a meet in Blimp, Oklahoma, and we'll be there.
We love 'em, God knows it makes no sense.
What can I say to you in our humble defense?
We love 'em, what is this addictive need?
It's to find that “big hoss” with that blistering
burst of speed.
We love 'em, and watch each two-year-old lope.
We're watchin' to see “it” because a horseman has
nothing without hope.
We love 'em, and know we may never find that One.
So we keep doin' what we're doin' 'cause honestly
we're having fun.
We love 'emand we'll keep brushin', tackin', waterin',
and dumping feed.
Because we want to be a part of the beauty
And the awesome, awesome speed.

—Kathy Coffman, Norman, Okla.

I woke up this morning remembering
What I'd been dreaming about last night,
And I smiled, for it seemed so simple—
The answer to our political plight!
For I dreamed that all politicians
Had spent part of their lives on the land,
Honing the skills that would be needed,
When they signed on to “ride for the brand.”
They had learned the cowboy work ethic,
And what we call the Code of the West,
Where a person's word and a handshake
Put every agreement to rest.
There were governors and senators
Getting out before break of day,
Insisting that all their employees
Did a day's work for a day's pay.
From each town to each city and state,
All the way to Washington, D.C.,
Those cowboys that we had elected
Were working for you and for me.
Bills were no longer passed with “pork.”
Not one congressman's vote could be
bought.
Both sides of the “House” were using good
common sense,
The way cowboys have always been taught.
And when faced with important issues,
Where decisions could mean peace or war,
There was no partisan bickering;
They stayed true to the oath that they swore,
To never forget just what it took
In sacrifice, blood, sweat, and tears,
For our Constitution to survive,
Even after two-hundred-plus years.
Oh, I wish I hadn't been dreaming,
And cowboys were the ones at the reins,
For we could vote for any of them,
And do away with these awful campaigns!

—Carole Jarvis, Wickenburg, Ariz.

The tailgate says it's Chevy but the grill says
it's Ford—
Which one it really is you forgot;
The last time it saw pavement was 15 years ago
The day you bought it new off the lot.
The bed is full of salt blocks and knots of baling
twine,
Old feed sacks and moldy flakes of hay.
There's rolls of barbed wire and rusty T posts
And whatever else you throw in there today.
The paint is peeling off and the hood is full of
dents;
It usually has a flat once a week.
You park it on a hill 'cause the starter's nonexistent
And there ain't a fluid now that don't leak.
It was the best truck you could buy the day
you brought it home;
The engine would hum, pull, and pass.
But now before you start it you say a little
prayer
Then fill it up with oil and check the gas.
The inside smells like branding smoke and
cow's afterbirth.
You don't even want to know what's on the
floor.
You've got to use vice grips to roll the window
down
And needlenose to open either door.
Its engine's been rebuilt a half a dozen times.
It's used more oil than a jumbo jet.
It's ran like poop ever since you changed the
timing belt,
'Cause you never could get the timing set.
But you'll just keep on driving it until the
wheels fall off
And just to prove that it's a useful tool,
When you finally buy a new one you'll give that
one to the kids
And let themdrive it back and forth to school.

-Justin Flowers, Tatum, N.M.