By K.W. Oxnard
Savannah Morning News
As teenagers, my cousin Virginia and I went out to Montana to work on a real cattle ranch for a few months. We slept in a little log cabin by a brook, awoke early, then saddled up for a long day driving the dogies into the Rocky Mountains.
Although we were too green to rope any steers, we did move salt blocks into the mountains and herded wayward calves back to the fold on our trusty Western horses. Mine, a strawberry roan named Spree, loved nothing better than to race across the high desert, the wind in her mane.