My heros have always been...

My father in law is a cowboy.
In almost every sense of the word. I say almost, because I don't believe he has ever chewed tobacco and spit into a brass spittoon, or ever shot somebody in a shootout at high noon in the middle of a dusty street...
but I have been known to be wrong once or twice.

My little Jonas was the first grandchild, and for my father in law, the first shining beacon of restored hope to have a little cowboy in the family. You see, one by one, all his six children has broken his horse-lovin' heart by pledging their disinterest for the cowboy way of life. It probably has to do with cleaning out so many horse stalls full of manure. One time of that would cure me of horse-love, you can be sure of that.
Anyway, Jonas got a cowboy hat in every size growing up. He has several pairs of cowboy boots, some nice riding jeans, and some chaps... all of which have been good for nothing other than some Halloween costumes.
Until now.

This summer, my father in law's hopes and dreams have come true.



He has found himself a riding partner.



An eager student.



A cowboy in training.



In fact, he may have found himself two.



He can now die happy. But we would all prefer it if he could wait on that for about 49 years.
As for me, I think that all this is cute and everything, but don't you be thinking for one minute that country music is going to get played in this house.

Lines have to be drawn somewhere.