This spring, my allergies (and my home surrounded by cattle pasture) started me thinking about the cowboy's life on the spring round-ups. Surely many of them had allergies, too! The following are the lyrics to a sillly little ditty I wrote dedicated to the Allergic Cowboy (Note: This is not intended to be an accurate representation of anything or anybody, least of all the actual hard life of ranch hands. It's just my durn imagination firing up again.):

Most cowboys love spring round-ups
With the new green grass and sun
While the wind tugs at your hatbrim,
And makes your old paint run.
You can smell the burning hair
From dawn 'til setting sun.
All hands rest 'neath the cottonwoods
When the daily work is done.

(Chorus)
The Sierras in the springtime are so beautiful to see,
It makes this old cowpoke start to cry,
Not because of feelings
Or old-time memories,
But because they aggravate all of my allergies.
The Sierras in the springtime are beautiful to see;
I just wish it didn't make me sneeze.

Yes, I used to love spring round-ups,
But the green grass makes me sneeze.
My eyes itch from the pollen
In those big cottonwood trees,
But worst of all's the cattle hair
That floats in on the breeze.
I'm the Allergic Cowboy;
Pass the Kleenex please.

(Chorus)

It's not Perry Como or even the Beatles, but I had fun with it.