Even though it was an end to an impactful chapter in the annals of our family, it came as kind of a relief when the livestock-showing and high school rodeo career of my youngest son came to an end. There were some definite benefits for me. I was going to be spared a whole lot of time and trouble that in years past had been spent carting horses, kids and calves across the countryside to various arenas and fairgrounds around southern Idaho.
But there was something else, too. Although there was rarely a hint of arrogant superiority directed at us by any of our fellow rodeo and stock show parents or participants, I always felt a little out of my league and a touch of embarrassment when I’d pull up to the fairgrounds with my rusty old ’80s-era Kiefer Built stock trailer. Our horses were mostly homegrown cow ponies and our tack and attire more ranchy than rodeo, but we tried to fit in as best we could.
I know the character of a person has little, if anything, to do with the swoosh on her shoes or the Garcia stamp on his silver bit, and as I’ve aged, I like to think that maybe I’ve outgrown many of my petty insecurities. Even so, I still prefer to have a little class to my act if I can reasonably afford it. And though I’m notoriously cheap, I do have just enough self-awareness and sense of style to have a desire to fit in as long as I don’t have to compromise my ethical standards.
It was with this mostly substance-over-style mindset that I offered my wife a hearty “atta-girl” when she showed up from town one day with a real yard sale prize. She came through the door and handed me a brand-new hand-tied rope halter, complete with an 8-foot-long, stout, soft lead rope attached. She informed me she’d paid three bucks for it. It may have been just a distraction to keep me from noticing anything else she may have wasted money on at the yard sale, and if that was the case, it worked. I didn’t care. My new prize was both stylish and functional, and you can never have too many halters.
Just a couple of short weeks later, as I was cleaning up from cooking at the annual breakfast that is part of our community’s huge July Pioneer Days celebration, I watched with a wary eye as a pair of young brothers – probably around the ages of 8 and 10 – approached me. They circled with the same self-assurance of a pack of lions closing in on a zebra colt. They reeked of entrepreneurialism. I recognized them as part of the Bingham clan, a sheep family from way back.
“Hey, Paul,” the younger lad half-cautiously blurted out. “You probably need a good halter, don’t you?”
Well, how was I supposed to respond to that? Of course I needed a good halter. Haven’t we already established that you can never have too many halters?
“Why do you ask?” I knowingly inquired. “Do you know where I can find one?”
With the hook firmly set, young Mr. Bingham, with more boldness now in his voice and demeanor, directed me to a bright red pop-up tent set up in a driveway across the road from the town park. There, the two young craftsmen displayed a sample of their wares. They had a collection of several rope halters in a wide array of colors, all for sale to any buckaroo with a jingle in his pocket or a Venmo account. They were quick to point out that my neighbor, the horseman Jerry Zollinger, had told them what kind of rope to use, and that he had already bought a few halters. Now I really had to buy one.
“How much?” I queried.
“Thirty-five dollars, and you can pick the color,” came the reply.
As I was about to close the transaction, I mentioned to the two energetic young peddlers that a lead rope would sure be a nice complement to my new pink and black halter, and that, for the right price, I may be willing to add that to my purchase. And wouldn’t you know it? For another cool 15 bucks, I had myself a bright green lead rope.
I noticed that the nosepiece was maybe not quite as big as I would have liked it, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Seemingly already well aware of both my trepidation and my horsemanship reputation, the older of the two brothers noted that even though the bottom knot was just a little loose, it’d sure tighten up when my horse pulled back on it. I slyly chided him for his assumption that my horses would pull back, but thanked him for the information, nonetheless. And just like that, I was down 50 bucks, but the proud new owner of some practical, authentic handmade cowboy tack that I wouldn’t be ashamed of, no matter what trailer I was parked next to.
It could be argued that I may have overpaid for my halter with the slightly undersized nosepiece, and my $3 halter is every bit as useful and effective as my high-dollar collectible, but I think it was money well spent. There are a couple resourceful, sheepherding Bingham boys who might agree with me, too.
