Bob was a neighbor of my aunts when they lived outside Eureka, Missouri and a consummate horseman as you can see. He would have been a cowboy, but there wasn't much to that as a career anymore. Weekdays, he drove to Indianapolis and picked up a tractor-trailer rig, drove a load to California and back, then drove to Eureka an hour west of St Louis. Some weekends, he would then drive to Oklahoma to punch cows with some friends who stayed with the life.
A lot of people have recorded it, but my favorite version of "Night Rider's Lament which always reminds me of him is Nanci Griffith's (a duet with Don Edwards) that you can hear here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tADS_eWkG3A
His wife Joanie was a champion barrel racer who worked a cattle auction during the week. One weekend he returned home to hear something snuffling in the downstairs closet. Someone had brought an achondroplastic dwarf bull to the auction instead of euthanizing it on the ranch as is normal at the birth of what cattlemen call a "Snorter Dwarf." (Skull deformation make the animal breathe stertorously.) Joanie could not stand to let it be killed. So she named it Butch and raised it in the house until it got too big and then turned it out in an orchard pasture.
The reason most cattle are easy to move around is that they mostly have only encountered humans as towering figures on horseback. Butch did not see things that way and weighed well over 1000 pounds.
One night we heard screaming in the orchard pasture, probably a bobcat in retrospect, but they have a godawful scream so I went down from my aunts' place and he came up from theirs. Whatever it was, was gone, but it had angried up Butch's blood some and he treed us. I heard a lot of cowboy stories up in that tree 'til the sun came up and Butch lost interest.