Ah, buffalo. They really are one of my very favorite animals. My aunt and uncle ranch in Colorado and raise buffalo, and during my visits there, the buffalo cows and calves could be heard outside the windows at night, the cows making a soft woft sound to their babies. To be sure, there is nothing cuter than a copper colored buffalo calf in the spring. They are even cuter than our little black baby calves, which is saying something. In fact, since I was in my pre-teens, I have dreamed about raising buffalo. I am just as likely to buy something with a buffalo on it as I am if its turquoise… or has a Chief head on it. Or a bucking horse. But this isn’t really a post about fashion.
When I met Cowboy, I was working for a local rancher would had traded in their black Angus herd for a small herd of corriante-longhorn cross cows. Small, fast and wild in every color in the rainbow, I loved looking at those cows in the pastures. Their calves looked like Easter eggs in the Spring, speckled and colorful. During one of our first dates (luckily, not our first date as there may not have been a second), as Cowboy and I drove in his truck and I listened adoringly as he talked about ranching and cows. I loved the way he spoke with respect and affection about his Dad’s cows. Yep, this guy was special. And he liked what I liked but he actually knew something about cows whereas I knew the very basics. He would get my love for buffalo and longhorns and we would get both. We would sit on the front porch together, listening to the wofts of the buffalo and admiring the speckled hides of the longhorns. I passionately told my new love interest of my intentions of raising buffalo and longhorns, expecting him to squeeze my hand excitedly and declare his undying love for me on the spot. Instead, my hunk in boots listened to me politely, his expression one of amusement. “Have you ever worked buffalo or longhorns?” he asked after my breathless description of how excruciatingly adorable my calves would be. “Oh, no I haven’t worked buffalo but I moved a pair of longhorns across the road the other day.” With my car. Cowboy chuckled in a way that I would come to love and said, “Well, you should try that before you get too excited. And I don’t know about the buffalo industry, but I wouldn’t plan on making too much money on your longhorns either.” What! I felt deflated as he regaled me with the reasons I should not own buffalo and longhorns. Six foot fences with 1 million volts. Special chutes and corrals. Federal regulations. Low market demand. No Cowboy to help me out because he wouldn’t be caught dead raising either. Wait, what? It may have been the Wranglers that distracted me or the margaritas (or both) but by the end of dinner and a dance or two, I suddenly didn’t mind that he had 86’d my livestock business plan. I would raise black cows, red cows, or a hundred of his babies, I didn’t care. As long as I was with him.