The other day I was at the grocery and I realized people were looking at me oddly.  I started thinking about it and I realized this wasn’t the first time I’d noticed that recently… Why on earth were people giving me strange looks?  It wasn’t until I got home and kicked off my boots that the pieces started to click together.  Dirt and hair mixed with a bit of M-T-G and smeared on my jeans?  Check.  Giant nuzzle/dirt mark on the front of my shirt?  Check.  Unusual horse-shaped sweat print on my butt?  Check.  Hair standing on end with a few shavings sprinkled in for good measure?  Check. 

Photo courtesy of Kathleen Tyler Conklin

At that moment, it struck me.  I am a Cowgirl.  I’ve always been a cowgirl, sure, but it used to be different.  I lived on the farm and so my barn attire and eau de horse were usually restricted to the home front as I had no need to go out and about dressed that way.  Now I live in the City and, practical girl that I am, I like to multi task.  Therefore you might find me in, say, the grocery dressed in filthy riding jeans with a 15 year old shirt on and spurs jingling as I walk down the aisle.  Needless to say, I stick out like a sore (and stinky) thumb.  As I continued pondering this topic, I began to realize all the ways in which I truly am a cowgirl… 

*I think nothing of shopping around after a long day at the barn, trudging around in my dirty boots with jeans that always seem to drop shavings out of the creases at the worst time.

*My favorite stores are Home Depot and the nearest tack shop. 

*For my birthday one year, my favorite gift was a one year wormer pack.

*Wish lists don’t come from Amazon or Macy’s – more like Schneiders or

*I shop for “street clothes” at Tractor Supply Co and covet the new Wrangler flip flops

*I couldn’t change a baby diaper without gagging, but I regularly pick crap out of my horse’s feet and it doesn’t bother me (although I am going to make a case that horse poo is so much less nasty than baby poo)

*My car might be a depository for any of the following at any given time:  saddles, bales of hay, bagged shavings, feed, brushes, or buckets.  And it WILL be a depository at ALL times for dirt, shavings, and horse hair.  I recently got a few odd looks regarding the tail extension hanging from my rearview mirror.  Hey, it beats fuzzy dice, right?

I used to tell my friend, who teasingly called me Cowgirl for months, that I am actually a “horsewoman.”  But you know what?  I AM a Cowgirl.  And proud of it! 

Photo courtesy of Moosealope