What do you think of when you think of “the west”?

• Rolling plains.
• Barns.
• Horses.
• Cows.
• Shootouts at high noon.
• John Wayne.
• Tumbleweed. (An east coast native asked me once if tumbleweed actually existed, or if it was just a Hollywood invention. True story.)
• And likely, if you’ve ever seen any Western movie ever: cowboys.

Cowboys are a key part to the western notion. Actually they are likely the key. What would be a farm, ranch, or Western without a cowboy?

Who would wrangle up dogies without cowboys? (Incidentally, I just found out what a dogie is c/o the magic that is Google: “a motherless or neglected calf.” So there you go.)

What would happen to all those spurs, lassos and Wranglers without cowboys?

The world would be a poor place without cowboys. The National Western Stock Show couldn’t go on without cowboys.

Look at all the cowboys.

The thankful cowboy that’s praising the high heavens to still have legs had just been flung from the back of a raging, buckin’ bronco moments before the snapping of this photo.

It’s the little things that count, having legs. And a spine that’s still in one piece.

And because he still had legs, he was a celebrity amongst the rodeo-goin’ crowd. Because, seriously, he was just on the back of a roughly 1100-pound raging animal. And he survived. That takes guts.

Give the man a hand, folks!

Of course, we can’t forget the cowgirls amongst us. Like this little gal.

I can’t help but wonder if she’s fantasizing about getting down into the arena one day and roping a few dogies of her own. I bet she could take it.

Girls are tough. They have to be. Think I’m a little biased because I too am a girl? Let’s just take a minute and talk about giving birth.

Enough said.

However, all of this is just a lead-in to what I really want to talk about today:

Plastic, toy cowboys.

I’ve been waiting for just the right opportunity to share these fellas with you. And when could be better than Stock Show week?

My aunt (the one who took this photo) sent them to me for Christmas.

They’re colorful, they make me feel like I’m living in the Toy Story movies, and they’re cowboys.

The raucous, Old West-type cowboy.

The type that gesticulates wildly with a pistol in hand.

The type that hides behind a cactus in an attempt to lull the dogies into a false sense of security. (OK, that’s the last time I’ll use the word dogie, I promise.)

The type that rounds up wild horses…oops, didn’t mean to include my leg.

Way to shatter the illusion, Anya.

That’s better. Illusion re-established.

Our cast of characters.

Although perhaps this version would be more fitting:

And this is the point of this long post when I realize there never really was a point and I’m just rambling.

So thanks for sticking with me.

And because you did, and because I love ya’ for it, if you’re ever in Denver and want to have a little playtime, just give me a ring.

There’s a plastic sheriff’s star in it for you.

In conclusion: dogies.

OK, I’m done.

No really.

OK bye.