Books and the purchase thereof are much like going to the carnival: lots of glitter and flashing lights everywhere. Lots of ways to spend your money. Why this ride? Why this cotton candy, and why this particular coney cheese dog? Hunger amidst all the turmoil of activities, becomes a timely endeavor to extend our exploration - staying longer, riding more rides, eating more, until the clock expires or the wallet runs dry.

Choices in rides, food, friends, automobiles, vacation trips and even leisure entertainment like books, all comes down to ...what's in it for me? Bang for the buck is a common expression. Value for the dollar is another.

Regardless of the subject matter within these books, our choices are made most commonly by three things: perceived value, perceived enrichment, and perceived enjoyment. Our choice as to what we like is personal. Your likes are unique to you. If you like damsel in distress stories, murder mysteries, or exploring the galaxies, this book is not for you! If you like to feel' the heat waves that cut the air in front of your face, feel comfortable with the dusty accumulation of grit across the face, and enjoy the soft sounds of leather rubbing against leather - you just might have found the lost treasure of Solomon.

One needs to know the environment about which we write. Have been hung up, a foot through the stirrup for even a moment...will launch a vast array of Lord, help me please thoughts. Having a mad horned cow that you just roped come back up the rope to you, will make million dollar executive decisions seem like moves on a scrabble board. For all the cussing of mesquite trees referred to, they've saved more than a few cowboy lives. My own life once, involving a bull that I knew better than to rope - but did't do better. That wire caught around his foot seemed important until my rope settled around his neck. Then several things suddenly seemed vastly more important than that bit of wire.

Before I graduated from high school, no less than a dozen things involving wild cattle could have snuffed out a young life. But if you survive the early learning years, you might just make a cowboy.

If I were a great writer, I could create stories involving women, bank heists, murder or Wall Street crime...If I knew one blasted thing about them. I know cowboying. I know cattle. I know reproduction and nutrition, all due to college. I used to be able to tie-down wild cattle in a brushy pasture. I used to be able to ride a bronc. Those two words, used to, have got a lot of men hurt bad. Like the NFL, age is the enemy. Having played in the early years is a whole lot different than playing in the latter years. Getting hurt becomes a primary concern. If one is worried about getting hurt, you probably will. Age does that to you. Whether you are a football player, or a cowboy, advancing age changes your game. Indestructible becomes destructible. Maybe they had a crowd to please or were just showing off. Maybe they were just being damn fools. Fools and showoffs live on borrowed time among real cow outfits. Little is lost when they are replaced.

Growing up, we kids were likely watched from afar, more than we were aware of, in case we did get into trouble. In the situations I mentioned that was not the case. Only a fool or a young, dumb cowboy who thinks his shit don't stink -- does these things and more times than not, gets away with it. SURVIVES until the next time. I find in later years that the Good Lord must have had an arm around me - most of the time I was in the saddle. We, my brother and I, grew up in a bygone era. The time of the absolute last of the true cowboys. Though we were kids, we knew 'em. Tried to act like 'em. Wanted to be like 'em.

My dad was a quiet man, mighty quiet. He was a small man. He seemed to prefer a little smaller horse than most. I think maybe (though never announced) that he enjoyed that he could do everything, and mayb
About the Author: My early childhood was spent in Archer County, Texas. Then our family moved to the Adams Ranch, east of Matador, Texas. This ranch was 42,000 acres and included the eastern most acreages of the historic Matador Ranch (which had just sold). By the eighth grade I was making regular cowboy wages when not in school: $8 dollars a day. Somewhat reluctantly, I left after graduating high school and started college. In 1970, seven years later, I graduated veterinary school. I practiced in San Antonio for six years: equine medicine and surgery. Then we departed for Clovis, New Mexico, - sole reason.....I did not want to raise kids in an urban area.
Slowly, I developed a remote ranch practice covering a large area of SE New Mexico and NW Texas--including working the weekly cattle sale in Lubbock, Texas, two and sometimes three days a week. Though not professionally challenging, I throughly enjoyed the people and the activities. In retrospect had I to do it over again, I would have been over in the Animal Science Department more directly involved with beef cattle instead of veterinary school. Close but no cigar, was true for me until I met Sherry. Then my life went from black & white to cinematographic color. Thank you Lord.
My family ran long in cowboys for three generations. Regarding my own generation, only my younger brother stayed involved with cattle. He was extraordinary in getting young cattle started prior to going to the feedyard. He literally handled hundreds of thousands of head over twenty years. The other three of us went to college: one a business major at TCU, another a earned masters in accounting (Texas Tech), and myself, to satisfy our parents who truly were our greatest asset. No one had better role models. I grew up in Lost Valley in Jack County, Texas on a small ranch with a younger brother Carter and grandparents that lived right across the road from us. It was a child's best possible playground with horses, cows, goats, and chickens. I had chores but spent most of my free time roaming the ranch and letting the love of that land soak into my soul.

My dad worked for the Texas & Southwestern Cattle Raisers Assn. and they transferred him to the central office in Fort Worth when I was 14. It was a life changer for all of us and a very difficult transition. I did eventually adapt to urban life but for most of my life have felt that I have had one foot in the rural way of life and one in the urban and not completely at home in either.

I chose to go to the University of Texas at Austin instead of Texas Tech which my dad really wanted for me and would have been a better fit. My main goal was to get out as quickly as possible and go to work. I finished school in 3 years with a degree in Math and minor in Computer Science and went to work for Texas Instruments.

I have lived in several different locations in Texas but Lost Valley has always been home. My grandmother Alma King always felt that the rest of the world might be in chaos but all would be well in Lost Valley. That sense of belonging to the land does not wane with age but, perhaps, becomes stronger. It is more of a sense of you belonging to the land rather than the land belonging to you.