“A Cowboy always helps someone in need – be they stranger or enemy.” This is one of the ‘Codes of the West.’
I’d like to think all Cowboys – or at least most of them – still abide by ‘the code.’
‘The Code’ is a sort of “Do Unto Others” creed. I see it as unspoken promise that a Cowboy is someone you can always rely on as the first one there to lend a helping hand.
Yesterday I had begun to think ‘The Code’ was a thing of the past.
I had driven up to Billings, Montana for a dental procedure (one of many these days). The city streets were still a soggy mess from a ’surprise’ snowfall the night before. A one-inch prediction had become a half-foot. The main roads weren’t fun, but the side roads were challenging to say the least … especially if you drive a Prius.
A Prius is aerodynamically designed as ‘low to the ground.’ Great for gas mileage and speed. Bad for snow.
After my round with yet another root canal I planned to stop by the hospital to pick up a prescription. Try finding a parking place in downtown Billings right after city snow equipment has plowed the streets. The roads are cleared, but the parking spots are about as heap high with snow as a country pasture is with … let’s just say, “manure.”
After fifteen minutes I discover a side street where ten or so cars and trucks were parked. I chose an empty spot, parked the Prius, picked up the prescription – and happily returned to my car, thinking how easy the whole thing had been.
WRONG. I was SO stuck.
The under-body of the car was smack dab against the snow. I was being held hostage by gunk. It would be at least an hour or two before Triple A could get to me, they had said. So – what’s a girl to do but wait? And, as it turns out – watch. Truck after truck – man after man – passed me by as I tried digging out of the snow (with a tiny, useless shovel from my ‘emergency kit.’)
I counted them. In forty-five minutes there were a total of twenty three guys who either pretended not to see me – or looked right at me as they slowly and deliberately drove on by. Ten of them (in big, honking trucks) were wearing Cowboy hats. Ten more guys parked next to me – three in Cowboy hats. Still no offers. Still stuck.
“So much for the Cowboy Code,” I thought. Right now I was just another number to Triple A. And that was that.
Then, out of the blue, a big ole rusty SUV pulled up by the Prius – and out stepped an old Cowboy. A Cowboy with a boot on one foot and a cast on the other. A crutch under one arm. And a smile as broad as the Wyoming sky.
In spite of the broken foot and crutch, he pushed the Prius out of the snow – then waved me on my way. I thanked him several times and offered to pay him for his time.
“No, Ma’am. A ‘Thank You’ is plenty.” With that, he tipped his hat and slowly made his way through the slush towards the hospital.
I thought about my Good Samaritan with the Cowboy hat all the way home – and when I crossed the state line into Wyoming, the sun suddenly broke out of the clouds as I saw that old familiar sign with the Cowboy on the Bucking Horse: WELCOME TO THE COWBOY STATE
And I knew ‘The Code of the West’ was still very much alive.
Thank you, Old Cowboy. Where ever you are.
Thanks for your help – thanks for your message – and thanks for the faith.
I still believe in Cowboys.
Deb Trotter ~ Cowboy’s Sweetheart Artist
Tags: Cowboy's Sweetheart, Cowgirl, Deb Trotter, Good Samaritan, Montana, Photographs, The Cowboy Code, Wyoming
Posted in Cody Wyoming, Photographs, The Code of The West, Travel, Vintage Cowgirl, Weblogs |
