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missed.
    He finished pulling on his boots and stood up. “Well, we’d better saddle me a bronc and see if we can put that old hookin’ bull back where he belongs.”
    He started toward the back door but then stopped and sniffed the air. “Boy, I need to warsh my socks. Smells like a sewer in here.”
    Funny, I hadn’t noticed the smell of his socks, but then I’d had my mind on other things.
    We went trooping out of the house, picked up Mister Look-at-the-Clouds at the yard gate, hooked the stock trailer onto Slim’s pickup, and pulled down to the corrals.
    Slim had kept up a young bay horse the night before. He caught him and led him into the saddle lot and threw a saddle on him. While he tightened the cinches, he talked out loud to himself.
    â€œIf I have to rope that old bull, I might wish I’d taken a better horse. I’ve never roped anything big on this owl-headed thang, and there’s not much tellin’ what he might do.” He stopped and thought a moment. “In fact, I believe I’ll just . . . nah, it’s too hot to gather the horse pasture. We’ll do what needs to be done, won’t we, Button?”
    Little Alfred smiled. “I’ll wope that bull, if you’ll wet me.”
    Slim led the horse out the gate and latched it behind him. “I wish I could, son, ’cause roping bulls is sometimes hard on clothes and old men.”
    â€œI woped me a chicken today.”
    â€œI’ll bet you did. When it comes to slinging that twine, you’re a regular holy terrier.”
    Slim loaded his horse into the trailer. Little Alfred watched. “I wike to wope, and I’m pwetty good.”
    â€œThat’s fine, Button, just keep a-throwin’ and keep a-learnin’. One of these days you’ll be as good with a rope as I am, and probably just as rich.”
    â€œAre you wich, Swim?”
    Slim hitched up his jeans and smiled. “Well now, I’m rich in the things that matter to me. I’m proud of who I am and what I do. To me, that’s rich. There’s a song that says just what I’m a-tryin’ to tell you, Button. Let’s see if I can remember how it goes.”
    I didn’t know old Slim could even carry a tune, but by George he did. Here’s how it went.
    Just Another Cowboy Day
    This morning at five I got out of bed,
    Boiled some coffee and toasted some bread.
    I pulled on the jeans I’d left throwed on the chair,
    And brushed all the roostertails out of my hair.
    My eyes was all soggy, I couldn’t see squat.
    I tripped on the dog on my way to the pot.
    I said to myself as I kicked him away,
    â€œIt’s another cowboy day.”
    It’s another cowboy day
    Diggin’ them postholes and pitchin’ that hay.
    It’s another cowboy day,
    Just another cowboy day.
    I went to the mirror and stood there a while.
    The face starin’ back at me looked pretty wild.
    If eyes was like teeth, I could take out the red
    And soak ’em in Polident next to my bed.
    Old Arthur was hurtin’, my shoulder was sore.
    Sometimes I think I can’t take any more.
    I’ve left many times but always I stayed
    For another cowboy day.
    It’s another cowboy day
    Diggin’ them postholes and pitchin’ that hay.
    It’s another cowboy day,
    Just another cowboy day.
    I went to the barn and fed my old horse,
    Me and that rascal have been through the course.
    He ain’t all that good but he ain’t all that bad.
    Old Dunny’s the best friend that I’ve ever I had.
    Old Dunny and me, we cut through the breeze
    As morning was paintin’ the tops of the trees.
    â€œOh Lord, give me more,” that’s all I could say,
    â€œJust another cowboy day.”
    It’s another cowboy day
    Diggin’ them postholes and pitchin’ that hay.
    It’s another cowboy day,
    Just another cowboy day.

    By the time Slim finished the song, Little Alfred was playing