If I owned a chuckwagon, it would be a restaurant - not a dude ranch amenity.

One year my father drove the family to Wyoming for a chuckwagon breakfast. I can not remember the place or the name of the horse I rode, but I do remember the cook sang a few cowboy songs on a damaged small-body guitar. In my memory I picture a few less fence posts and a herd of cattle surrounding the temporary morning campsite.

Only if I had the land, two brown horses would pull me out to the open land, I'd fry bacon on a cast iron skillet and sing a few bars from Wibaux rancher Bob Peterman’s songbook. Only if I could find a 6 sting like Willie’s. Only, only, only...

Pretending to be a cowboy is easier than working as one... but then, if you're faking it, where's land you playing 'American West' on?