In my book pride isn’t a good thing. I think it’s true that “Pride goeth be for the fall”. At least that is how it’s worked in my life.
But, I’m guilty once again. I can’t help but feel special for having my cowboy in my life. It hasn’t been (or even isn’t now) easy to be married to one. Like I’ve said before, because of him, I’ve been a lot of things: thankful, happy, loved, yelled at, sad, madder than a wet hen, terrified, injured, homeless feeling, broke, (and the list goes on) but never bored.
He’s been wearing a baseball cap lately, looking like the truck driver he is right now (Sigh) so I almost forgot what a cowboy he really is. It took seeing him dragging calves to the fire the other day to remind me.
Slipping in so easy through those bunched up calves, swinging a pretty loop, picking up doubles, dallying on a short line, then weaving carefully through the teams of throwers. Watching him was something that just made my chest kind of swell. I guess if that’s pride, then I’m guilty of it.