Santa is a cowboy

The subject came up spontaneously at a recent meeting of the New Mexico

Cowboy Curmudgeon Coalition, where our motto is: “If we actually existed,

would anyone really care?” It came about because of the time of year and the

spirit of Christmas, and was encouraged by other spirits, of a more … well …

bottled variety.

“I think it’s time,” said one member, “we gave credit where credit is due.

Santa Claus … hear me out now … is a cowboy.”

This met with derisive outbursts in the House of Commons, which is more the

Bunkhouse of Commons here. Why? Because being a cowboy is the pinnacle of

human achievement, and those who reach these heights tend to jealously guard

the gates. It was quickly pointed out that Santa is a bit … chunky, to make

much of a hand. And what did we know of his ranching background?

But then a miracle happened. The clouds of doubt pulled away from the

argument and the light of sense and reason shone round and about like dawn on

a thistle. The coalition member who had suggested membership for Santa spent

the next half hour laying out why Santa is really a cowboy.

Let us examine his points with care, in hopes that enlightenment soon will be

there.

Cowboys selflessly dedicate their lives to helping others and protecting

women and children from evil, naturally, and no one could argue that if anyone

were to threaten a kid, he’d get a Santa whuppin’ in no time flat. This was as

clear as the moon on the crest of newfallen snow, so, from a valorous point of

view, S. Claus was well on his way to cowboydom.

A true cowboy loves animals, too. In fact, a true cowboy will feed completely

useless stock long after they have outlived their usefulness, just so he can go out

and feed something. Naturally, if a guy were to feed … oh, say eight reindeer all

year long just so he’d have some transportation for a single night? Oh yes, the

luster of midday to objects below was beginning in force.

Then, too, Santa spends all year long discovering new ways of having fun,

without once giving heed to the family exchequer. It’s as though money were no

object in a year-long pursuit of happiness for others.

And then, when a year’s hard work is completed, what does Santa do? He

gives it all away in a single night! Yea, verily, it makes a guy lay a finger aside

his nose with glee.

But is all this truly the essence of being a cowboy? Well then, consider this:

Santa has the ability and desire to get into literally millions of tight places in a

single night on the town! And somehow he manages to get himself out of these

tight places, as well, as he makes his way back to the stock.

Add it all up, Santa’s life is impressive, but simply blowing the fruits of a

year’s work on a single night of selflessness doesn’t carry with it the élan, the

Santa savoir faire that fans have credited to genuine New Mexico cowboys all

these years. Surely there must be more.

Well, there is. And this is what put the cherry on the whole Cowboy Santa

brouhaha.

Santa has, for eons now, spent all night out, gallivanting around here and there

on a marvelous and miraculous worldwide toot, and is still able to convince

Mrs. Claus he is just going out for milk and cookies.

Now there, we said in a spontaneous toast to the jolly old elf, is a real

cowboy..

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Slim Randles has driven Alaska’s Iditarod Race with seven dogs, and has

done enough other idiotic things to qualify for membership in the New

Mexico Cowboy Curmudgeon Coalition. Slim and his wife, Catherine, live

in Albuquerque.