He gets up in the morning, way before dawn.
Feeds the wood heater, turns a pot of coffee on.
Tunes in the radio for the market report.
He could stay in bed, but he's just not that sort.

He scrambles some eggs as his family sleeps upstairs.
Thinks over coffee until first light appears.
He climbs into his coveralls when it's light enough to feed.
Some folks wait 'til it's warmer but he's not of that breed.

The snow crunches as he walks, his breath rises in the air.
Tiny icicles begin to form on his moustache hair.
The cows beckon softly, the horses toss their heads & nicker.
Stamp their impatience when the tack room lights flicker.

When most folks are asleep, he's out there loading up hay.
He could do it blind-folded, since he does it twice every day.
He pauses to stroke a barn cat, and listen to it purr.
Tousles the ears of his cow dog, and pulls out a burr.

Last year's calves chew their alfalfa as the rancher waters.
He's proud of his cows that produced these sons & daughters.
He checks for bad eyes and cows that are due.
The herd needs him badly, and he needs them, too.

He does this every day, every winter, every year,
But it's never monotonous, routine, boring, or drear.
To the rest of the world, those are just cows out by the shed.
But to this honest cowboy,
They're his reason for getting out of bed.


From In the Company of Horses (Timberline Press, 2004).
Used here with permission.