Oh Babe...

During the time Marymine was here with my grandkids for Thanksgiving,  her grandpa pulled her off to the den to show her some ancient movies.  Mostly hunting trips of he and his brother and family friends.

But there was one section on the end of one that was of the young college student Cowman.  He was dancing with my roommates and horsing around with the puppies from my Queensland Heeler.  I didn't realize that Marymine hadn't seen it before now. Maybe, her grandpa thought she had.  Marymine kept saying, "Oh Mom, It's Dad, It's Dad!"

The Cowman loved to dance, it is how we met, at a dance in a country barn.  No line dancing stuff, just good old country dancing, fast or slow.  He was a good dancer, not so much the blonde with two left feet, but he never seemed to mind.  More than once I heard these words whispered in my ear, "It's my place to lead, and your place to follow, babe."

We danced at a lot of honky tonks, at rodeo dances, the little Red Bank school house,  and so many dance halls out in the back of beyond.

He danced until it just became too painful with a badly placed staple in one shoulder from a wreck with a bronc.  It was a good long run anyway. 

I know that where he is, he's rid'n a good horse, has Max the Wonder Cowdog by his side, and on Saturday nights he's swinging the ladies around a spring board dance floor with his cockeyed grin full out. 

Oh Babe.

"I have danced with your Memory a thousand times..."  -zZz-