CowboyBootStories.Com

Had two pairs of cowboy boots, both pairs lost there skins.. went to the horse races when it was raining, stepped into water getting to the race track, both times, i wore the boots, it had rained… the results were, the skins came loose…i still have the outer skins boots from the snake, but the lizards i threw those away… end of story..!!

I am a very patriotic person, a very proud American if you will. I was recently in Nashville TN, and spotted a pair of boots in the Trail West Store and instantly fell in love… Well, it was a Saturday and the store was closed, but I went back again on Sunday just to look, and on Monday went to buy - but as luck would have it, they only had one pair left and they were in a size 5 - well there was no way I was going to squeeze my size 8 foot into these boots and the sales person was rather condesending about the entire thing so I left with nothing more than a picture. The rest of the trip, I looked in every boot store there was, but never found another like them. I have searched the internet also for another pair but have come up bootless. I do not recall the brand of the boots - the sales person told me, but my memory fails me -I know they are not Justin but I had to select one… These boots were made for me!

Back in 1974, after graduating from the St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department’s Police academy, I was one of three young Officers assigned to undercover work in the Vice squad. To celebrate the occasion, I bought myself a brand new pair of Dan Post boots. I had stopped by my favorite Aunt and Uncles to share the news of my new purchase and to fish for compliments on my boots.

I told my Uncle that with my new boots, I would be able to sneak up on the bad guys. My Uncle broke out laughing and said, “You’re not going to sneak up on anyone - as big as your feet are, those boots will come around the corner a half a block before you do.” He might have been right…

I am a horse trainer by trade. I am a dying breed. A living piece of American History. I am the girl you see walking the mall in Los Angeles wearing her Wranglers and Lucchese boots. My boots are a part of me, a statement of heritage and history. My boots take care of me, they are my partner.

Slick bottoms allow my feet to slip from a stirrup connected to a wild horse trying it’s best to get away. Thick leather protects my feet from 1000 pounds and steel shoes. Hiding under the leg of my jeans is the true me. Pretty colors, embroydered flowers or bucking horses whatever I choose! No one sees it but me. It’s a secret of my personality but protection from the leather of the saddle providing me with security that my leg will not get a rub spot from the many hours I spend atop a horse. My boots have a wonderful wear spot from my spurs that show they are true work boots. Functional beauty each boot is handmade,a true piece of western art.

I have boots for every occasion and they all have a story to tell. Some are for work, some for show and others are to wear out. Each boot has a story to tell of history we have made together. Some
have won buckles with me, some do not recieve any prizes but are with me each day I achieve a milestone with a unbroke colt. They are equal in their value. Each boot serves a purpose and even though some are not as pretty as others those are the ones that are most worn and fit best!

My boots are a piece of me and true statement of the American West. I am a American Mustang Trainer and my boots are my history.

There once was a boy from Texas who loved his boots. Dancing, rodeos, or just around the house, having them on his feet just felt right. One day he got a call telling him that he had the opportunity of a lifetime. Luckily, his boots where going to get the same opportunity. The young man had received a promotion, and would now be traveling internationally for work. Though this was a great thing professionally, he was most excited about where his boots would get to travel. The first stop they made was in cold Montreal. Though it was cold, with thick sox and his boots he was able to make it through the snow to see Mount Royale, the Olympic stadium, and the underground city. As work continued the boots travel many miles (kilometers). From tropical Singapore and the Merlion, St Paul’s Cathedral, Stonehenge, and the dreary weather of England, Pyramids, Sphinx and the desert dryness in Egypt, and even to the Opera House and the top of the Sydney harbor bridge, his boots traveled with him enduring it all. From hot to cold, wet to dry, under the ground to up on a bridge his boots stood up to the job. Most of all, everyone he met loved his boots. “Ooo those are cool!”, “Where can I get a pair?”, “Do they have other colors?”, “I will buy them from you right now.”, he heard it all. The epidemic had spread. Soon boots will go global, not just any boots, but the boots just like the ones he bought from Boot City. So next time you travel and you are packing your bags, remember the boots and think of the good times you will have.

I wear dingo boots because they r ther best on the market!black is my fav color because of johnny cash!when I get depressed I put on my dingo boots listen 2 johnny cash or david allen coe willie nelson shedaisy or johnny rebel and there you go!it all started when my mother beame a country fan!my mothers fav is shedaisy!she got me 2 listen to country and there you go!country music saved my life from a pit of depression and sadness!I put on I will by shedaisy and I cry in happiness!my alltime fav country song is top of the world carpenters!

During the rainy season, in Oklahoma. We had a large Brama Bull. He always thought the grass was always greener on the other side. Being the big boy that he was, he was constantly busting through the fence. It so happened on this particular day ,James, the bull named after one of our cantankerous rancher friends, decided to bust the fence during the coldest rainiest day of that Month. Well here I go -hat on my head, running pulling on my coat as I went, grabing gloves,wire, posts and pliers. I had to get to the fence fast because we had two ponies and several calves on the ground. They would follow James at the drop of a hat. I made it, fixed the fence, got back to the house. I was heart broken when I looked down at my feet. I had been in such a hurry, I had forgotten I was wearing my good boots. My Boots were full of mudd, each in fact had three pounds of mudd- inside and out. I loved my denim blue tall top boots. They were my favorite, I lost them to two miles of fence and six pounds of mudd. I never have been able to find another pair like them to this day.

Last summer, my husband and I had just gotten a new puppy, Bella, and she stayed in the barn while we were away from home. She’s the cutest, sweetest, most loving little creature I’ve ever known. There’s nothing better than a canine companion. And there’s nothing more comfortable than a pair of Laredo boots. I always keep my favorite pair of cowboy boots on the porch of the house, because they’re usually very muddy. So anyway, my husband and I had gone to work in the morning as usual. We were expecting bad weather that day, but did not know just how bad it would be. A thunderstorm came through a few hours after I had arrived at work, and by noon a tornado touched down only 10 miles from our house. The winds were horribly strong. All day I worried about my new pup alone at home in the storm. When I got home that afternoon, I found the house and barn to be entirely untouched—no damage what-so-ever. However, I noticed that the barn door was blown open. Bella was nowhere to be found. I frantically searched the barn, yard, and woods, but when I searched the porch I also noticed that my favorite pair of Laredo boots were missing. I started walking the pasture in search of my sweet puppy, and that’s when something under the giant spruce tree caught my eye. One of my boots had blown off the porch, clear across the pasture, and was resting against the base of the tree….and sticking out of the inside of that boot was a little black tail! I ran over to find my cute little Bella was curled up, trying to hide inside! She must have escaped the barn during the storm and sought cover in my old, trusty cowboy boot. Even Bella loved those boots. Thankfully, she was 100% fine, just a little scared. (I ended up finding the other boot under the porch, and they’re still my favorite pair.)

I was born into a family of farmers who thought they knew everything about raising and riding horses. My first horse was a little Shetland pony my grandfather gave us, and it is the same story you’ve heard a hundred times: I was riding that horse before I learned how to walk! Same exaggeration too!

From the moment I woke up each morning, with my toy rifle beside me in bed, until the last waking moment before slumber took over and I dreamed about all the cowboy magic, I was a little cowboy. I dreamed about riding horses, brave cowboys and fierce Indians (sorry…Native Americans), guns a-blaze, cowboy hats and…of course cowboy BOOTS! We were poor by most standards, and new things in those days didn’t just mean a trip to town. We’d plan and hope and dream, and maybe…just MAYBE someday some of those dreams would materialize.

My dream was a new pair of cowboy boots, and vary consistently I told my mother how much I wanted a pair. I mean, what kind of cowboy rides his own horse (albeit a Shetland) but doesn’t own a pair of cowboy boots??? It was truly a travesty, and I reminded her constantly.

As Christmas would approach each year on the farm, hiding places for Christmas gifts would always be a challenge for Mom. She was good…real good, but she had three boys and one girl that would scour the house from the basement to each bedroom…nothing was sacred. It was during one of those searching expeditions that I discovered a boot box tucked away really high (for a little cowboy anyway) in the basement, above where the canned frult was stored…an Acme Boot box…with a pair of black boots with light blue tops. Oh they were gorgeous and just what I wanted…and WHOA! Smell that brand new leather??? Nothing smelled as good as new leather boots! AND they were my size too!!! Well I couldn’t contain my excitement. I ran upstairs to show my mother what I’d found… Did I mention that she was good? …real good: she told me they for my cousin, Cathy Ann…same age…same size…nope … not mine.

Bummer. Hopes were dashed. Still riding that shetland in my sneakers…what kind of cowboy was I anyway…no boots…

Christmas Day…three AM (they couldn’t keep four kids in their beds much after three) I discovered those boots under the tree and my heart leaped…I mean it soared! Those Acme boots were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen…and they just fit! I wore them until they were about three sizes too small. I ran in them…I rode my horse in them…I wore them to school…I wore them to church…and yes I even slept in them. Know how to make a little cowboy happy? yep…new cowboy boots!

Sorry Cathy Ann…maybe next year.

Life as a farmer in southeastern Idaho during the ’50s and ’60s was a struggle. A good farmer would be able to predict which crops were going to bring the best prices, and plant them in the spring. Ultimately nobody really ever knew, so some years would be good and some would not. One good year my father felt like he could afford a new pair of boots and he bought a pair of Tony Lamas. He always said that ‘you never have to apologize for quality’ and was more proud of those boots than any farmer on the Tyhee Flats. From my 11-year old eyes they were about the prettiest thing I’d ever seen too!

Every year, as a male bonding event, and when the crops were in — hopefully before the first real snow — we’d load up the horses and camping gear and head for higher country…into the places where the air was so clean it was sweet on your tongue, and the water in the creeks was still ice cold, no matter how warm August turned out.

That year we picked a site alongside a creek (if it had a name I forgot it years ago), hobbled the horses and started making camp. We didn’t figure that our horses were as smart as they were, and within minutes they had figured out how to run in hobbles, crossed the creek and were well on their way down the dirt road. When Dad saw that, he grabbed a rope, and without thinking ran through that creek with his new Tony Lamas on his feet. Needless to say, they were soaked by the time he returned to camp with the horses. He didn’t say much but you could tell that a poor farmer had just lost one of his prize possessions. All leather, he knew they would dry out, and never be the same special leather-soled boots.

When we returned from our adventure in the mountains, someone told Dad that if he’d mail the boots directly back to Tony Lama, they’d rebuild the boots and it wouldn’t cost as much as a new pair. Although it sounded like a tall Idaho tale, he did just that: mailed them back to Tony Lama.

I can’t tell you how excited Dad was to get the boot box in the mail, and to discover his boots, looking brand new. Either they’d just replaced them, or they somehow took them apart and put them back together with some magic…I’ll never know, but Tony Lama made that Idaho farmer…a guy that would be dirt poor this year and walking in tall clover the next, one very happy boy from Idaho…and didn’t charge him one cent!

Thanks Tony Lama. Dad is 87 years old this year. He had to give up raising horses a couple of years ago, yet one of his favorite stories is the one about his brand new Tony Lama Boots…and those darn horses who figured out how to run in their hobbles!