Cooking in the West

Since my faithful mare, Tinkerbelle, died, I have been looking for the perfect old lady’s horse. Actually I found him in Ekalaka, Montana, but I can’t wrap my head around the asking price. I have come to realize that the perfect bomb proof Grandma’s horse is going to cost me about a trailer load of calves, but I am struggling with writing a check that size for something that could die the next day.

Several years ago, I realized that I no longer had any desire to hit the ground coming off a horse. After the cows were all worked, it was time to move them to a new pasture. There was only one hors...