A REAL COWBOY

I have a cousin I just talked to who is a REAL Cowboy...his house shoes are a pair of cowboy boots cutoff at the ankle. He says thats pretty handy should you have to step outside.
We used to call him K-K, short for Kevin.
When Kevin was just about 4 years old, the entire Family, all Deep South Southern Baptists too, for whom even the word "intersection" was somewhat improper, stood and watched as his father, a Veternarian, slit the belly of a large Catfish hanging from a Pine Tree. It was a good sized 35 Pounder, and to be our supper.
The guts and eggs spilled down, wet and shiny and dangling a good foot below the tail of the fish.
In whole -earnestness, young Kevin pipes up from the crowd and asks his father:
"Is them his balls Daddy?"

We knew K-K would be a Cowboy on that day.

Years back, Kevin was sent to Louisville to train Racehorses. Gonna pay a lot of money. They put him up in a fancy hotel room and he spent two days, he said, drinkin' Champagne and eating Canapes' but never saw a single horse. When he asked where the horses for him to work with were, everyone just laughed and poured him another glass of Champagne. He caught the next flight out, saying he weren't that kind of Cowboy.

Kevin is a Quarter Horse man, trains Cutting Horses, which I would have to think is a dying Art form.
I asked Kevin if he was still a cowboy; he said he weren't, and recounted this to me:

"Last year I was out in a field trying to catch this ol' Boys Bull for 'im, and it was a bad SOB too, and he was gonna pay me $150 and I jus' got to thinkin' about my 5 year old girl and how I'd got busted up pretty good last year doin' the same thing... so I told that Ol' Boy that "$150 didn't pay for enough doctorin'" and he needed to find hisself a new cowboy to catch that SOB, cuz this 'ol cowboy's gonna find hisself a new job. I hauled my butt to the shop and give my girl a hug."

He works now building barns, saying that "you are still up in the air, but ol' barns not tryin' to throw ya".