I count myself among the luckiest girls in the world. You see, my heart belongs to a cowboy. A lot of folks don’t seem to understand what’s so special about that, so let me explain why I think it’s great.
        There’s more to a cowboy than just boots, hats, and lassos. Take mine, for instance. He loves campfires. Not only the fire, but the idea—the whole experience of it. The stars and the moon are out, lighting the vastness of our surroundings; crickets hiding in the bushes play countermelodies to his guitar; we relax in the warmth of the fire, enjoying the conversation or the silence.
        What I think of first when someone asks me about my cowboy is his smile. Come rain or shine, it’s there on his lips and in his eyes. Once I asked him why he smiles so much, and you know what he told me? That life is too exquisite not to smile. Then he took me out on the front porch and pointed out the jagged skyline of the mountains, the colors of the sunset stretched out across the land, the feel of the air at dusk. Of course, I was convinced. And I started smiling. That kind of optimism is contagious.
        Maybe another reason he can smile all the time is that he’s happy with himself. I’ve noticed that he has an incredible work ethic echoing that of the cowboys in old movies—jobs get done, and they get done well. It’s the Greek idea of areté wearing jeans and leather boots. He’d build me a house if I wanted, all by himself, and I’d trust it more than a million-dollar contracted mansion. It would be a real home for us.
        That’s what I admire most. I know he’ll settle down when the time is right. You mightn’t think so at first, but cowboys are definitely the marrying type. They’re willing to give up their wandering days whenever love finds them, never regretting their choice.
        I know what my choice is. I’m keeping my cowboy.