About Darrell Arnold
Poems and Lyrics
Cowboy Magazine
Contacting Darrell Arnold

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About Darrell Arnold

Darrell Arnold was born and raised in the town of La Veta, in southern Colorado. At the time of his birth, in 1946, that region of the state was primarily ranching country. Though Arnold did not grow up on a ranch, all his friends and neighbors were ranchers, and his own family raised cattle, hogs, rabbits, and chickens, and used horses for calf roping, barrel racing, trail riding, and hunting trips. Arnold had frequent opportunities to day-work with the many neighboring ranches.

After completing a college education in wildlife biology and serving four years in the United States Air Force, Arnold tried many occupations before finding his way into journalism. In 1983, he became a staff writer for The Texas Longhorn Journal, and in 1985 he accepted a position as associate editor at Western Horseman magazine.

In 1990, Arnold started Cowboy Magazine, a publication dedicated to ranching and the working ranch cowboy. Through the fall of 2008, Cowboy Magazine was the in-print voice of the working ranch cowboy. The magazine is no longer being published.

Darrell Arnold has published six books: In the Shadow of the Peaks, Cowboys und Ranches Huete, Cowboy Poultry Gatherin', The Cowboy Kind, Good Medicine: Humorous Stories and Poems from COWBOY MAGAZINE, and Tales from Cowboy Country: Stories from COWBOY MAGAZINE. There is information about each book below.

In 2011, Darrell Arnold wrote:

Since I closed Cowboy Magazine, I am living on Social Security and on income from a part-time job as a community bus driver in southern Colorado.

In my spare time, I accomplish "honeydos." I have also written two unpublished novels and a big pile of unpublished cowboy poetry/songs and patriotic poetry/songs. I dearly love staying in touch with all my old amigos in the cowboy and cowboy-entertainment worlds.

Find each COWBOY MAGAZINE issue's description and information about available back issues here.


We're pleased to have Darrell Arnold's essay, "No Excuse for Lazy Poets," on a separate page, here and his article, "Add Polish to Your Poetry," posted here.


Poems and Lyrics

Summer Sky

Gettin' Acquainted

Cowboy Home

Cowboy Poultry Gatherin'

So Sad the Sensitive Artist

Cow Work is All That I Know

Partners, Really?


Summer Sky

There is nothing quite so perfect
As a Colorado sky
In the morning, when the air is cool and clean.
From horizon to horizon
It's a bold, impressive blue,
And no cloud of any measure can be seen.

But then later, come mid-morning,
With the sun well overhead,
And the undulating valleys bright and warm,
Floating vapors start to gather
Just above the mountain crest,
And the soft and misty clouds begin to form.

Now it's noon, and storm clouds gather,
Massive towers in the sky,
White and gleaming as they billow high and grand;
With their undersides aburden,
Moisture laden, pearly gray,
And below, their giant shadows on the land.

Time moves on, the sky is blackened,
Now the day grows cool and dark;
Lightning flashes, thunder echoes all around.
In the heavens, clouds are opened
And the rains begin to fall,
Pouring life-producing water to the ground.

Only minutes, then it's over.
Once again, the air is clear,
As the thunderhead rolls onward to the plains;
And against its passing darkness
Gleams a rainbow, arching high,
Adding glory to the welcome summer rains.

Yet there's more, for now it's evening,
And the scattered remnant clouds,
Hanging thinly, like an awning in the West,
Form a canopy of color,
Gold and purple, flaming red,
As the sun descends and puts the day to rest.

After dark, a final splendor,
Lightning dances in the clouds,
Though the distant thunder now is but a sigh,
And above me, stars uncounted
With a slice of silver moon ­
Colorado, how I love your summer sky.

© 1993, Darrell Arnold, and included in Cowboy Poultry Gatherin'
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.



Gettin' Acquainted

It was on the Colorado,
Where the rimrock mesas rise,
That a herd of wild horses roamed the land.
And among the band a stallion,
That was beautiful and wise,
Was the one I swore was gonna wear my brand.

For two years, that horse I hunted.
For two years, he shunned my rope.
For two years, I dogged his spirit trail alone,
Till at last I fairly trapped him,
And it was my fondest hope
That I'd break him and I'd have him for my own.

In the round corral, I snubbed him,
And I tied up one hind leg,
And I gently strapped my saddle to his hide.
Then I blindfolded that stallion,
Waitin' like a powder keg,
And I took a breath and climbed aboard to ride.

With the eye wrap off he snorted,
When he saw me on his back,
And he quivered like a feather in a gale.
Then he roared just like a grizzly
Just before he left his track,
And upon a stormy ocean I set sail.

He leaped, and quaked, and twisted,
And he dove and spun around,
And he dipped, and skipped, and tripped, and flipped, and hopped.
Then he squealed and just insisted
That I fall off on the ground,
As he coiled, and toiled, and roiled, and boiled, and dropped.

He fought, and flew, and floated,
And he tossed, and turned, and tried,
And he pitched, and switched, and twitched, and hitched, and jerked.
Then he squirmed, and shook, and shivered.
Boys, he gave me quite a ride,
While he bounced, and trounced, and flounced, and pounced and worked.

As for me, Boys, I was grippin',
Clingin', pullin', clawin', slippin',
How I flapped, and scrapped, and slapped, and snapped, and yelled.
I was rakin', spurrin', kickin',
Floppin' 'round just like a chicken,
But I grabbed, and crabbed, and stabbed, and nabbed, and held.

He was siftin', shiftin', driftin',
He was swift and right upliftin',
He was just sprung, and slung, and hung, and flung, and drilled.
He was dashin', crashin', lungin'
He was thrashin', mashin', plungin',
He sure bucked, and shucked, and tucked, and chucked and spilled.

That ol' bronc just kept on flyin',
Plumb determined and defyin',
In a squallin', stallin', bawlin', fallin' fit.
He was dodgin', duckin', dancin',
He was pawin', pantin', prancin',
I was wishin', hopin', prayin' that he'd quit.

He was heavin', jumpin', wheelin',
He was weavin', humpin', kneelin',
I was battered, tattered, shattered, splattered, torn.
He was boltin', glidin', springin',
He was joltin', slidin', wringin',
I was jammed, and slammed, and whammed, and damned, and worn.

Well, at last it finally happened
That that bronc ran out of air.
He just quit, because he couldn't go no more.
Had I beat him? Don't believe it.
I could see it in his glare.
We were both just plain exhausted, sick, and sore.

That ol' horse and me was equal.
We had battled to a draw,
And I reckoned there was nothin' more to show,
So I jerked off all my riggin',
And I hollered one "Hoorah,"
And I opened wide the gate and let him go.

Now it's on the Colorado,
Where the rimrock mesas rise,
That a herd of wild horses roams the land.
And among the band, a stallion,
that is beautiful and wise,
Runs so freely where he'll never wear a brand.

© 1993, Darrell Arnold, and included in Cowboy Poultry Gatherin'
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.



Cowboy Home

Eagle soaring
Free, exploring,
Clouds are drifting by.

Eagle flying,
Great bird crying,
Monarch of the sky.

Eagle diving
And surviving,
On the wind he'll go.

Breezes lifting,
Eagle drifting,
Cowboy rides below.


Cowboy riding,
Mavericks hiding,
Living on the land.

Cowboy loping,
Tracking, roping,
Gathering to brand.

Horse is lathered,
Cattle gathered,
Winking stars above.

Moonlight burning,
Cowboy turning
Homeward to his love.


Woman toiling,
Coffee boiling,
Beefsteak in the pan,

Woman yearning,
Homefires burning,
Waiting for her man.

Supper's cooking,
Woman looking,
Moon is rising late.

Children playing,
Woman praying,
Longing for her mate.


Horses nicker,
Barn lights flicker,
Cowboy doing chores.

No more worries,
Now she hurries,
Steaming coffee pours.

Door swings open,
Children gropin'
For their daddy's knee.

Tender kisses
For his missus,
Happy family.

Your home is on the western prairie,
Your roof is the open sky,
Where you can be
As wild and free
As the eagle soaring high.

So cowboy raise your children
Where they'll be free to roam.
With your loving wife
Build a joyful life
In your western prairie home.

© 1993,  Darrell Arnold, and included in Cowboy Poultry Gatherin'
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Cowboy Poultry Gatherin'

I learned about this gatherin'
When a neighbor passed the word,
And it struck me as the dumbest thing
That I had ever heard.

He said a bunch of cowboys
Had been comin' here for years
For a great big poultry gatherin'.
I could not believe my ears.

Now, gatherin' cows is somethin'
That I know they always do,
And some will even gather sheep
Believe me folks, it's true.

I know they gather horses
Off the wild Nevada range,
But this gatherin' all these chickens
Really sounded kinda strange.

I imagined some ol' cowpoke
Jobbin' spurs into his steed,
Chasin' chickens through the sagebrush,
Colonel Sanders in the lead.

Just how do you rope a chicken?
On that I wasn't clear,
Or brand four sixes on his hide
Or swaller-fork his ear?

And when you've got 'em gathered,
Do you bed 'em down at night?
Do you cut out those bull chickens
If they're mean and on the fight?

I could hear the trail boss holler,
"Get 'em up, Boys, move along,
Take these hens to Ogallala."
Well it sure did seem all wrong.

So I came here to Elko
'Cause I had to check it out
And find out what this poultry stuff
Was really all about.

Well, now I feel foolish.
It's not poultry after all.
It's po-et-ry, with rhymin' words
And other folderol.

A bunch of tongue-tied punchers
With manure stuck to their heels
Are tellin' rhymin' stories 'bout
The way a cowboy feels.

But callin' this stuff poetry
Would make ol' Shakespeare howl.
I b'lieve it's poultry after all,
'Cause most of it is fowl!

© 1993,  Darrell Arnold, and included in Cowboy Poultry Gatherin'
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission. 

This poem is included in our collection of poems about Elko and our poems about Cowboy Poetry.


So Sad the Sensitive Artist

Poets and singersthat curious few
So proud to show off the fine work that they do,
They suffer and labor creating their art,
Expressing a message that comes from the heart.

They love to perform and to put on display
The wonderful talent that God cast their way,
A lyrical message, each artist records
In CDs and books for admiring hordes.

To magazine writers back east and out west,
They send review copies and pray for the best.
High praise they are seeking. Just love will fulfill
Their need to be thrust to the top of the hill.

Reviewers be warned, though you laud A to Z,
Any negative word will be all that they see.
They'll pout and they'll cry and get angry and mad,
Their sensitive egos so troubled and sad.

If once they were friends, they'll be friendly no more,
You've kicked them outside and you've bolted the door.
An honest appraisal will build but a wall,
'Tis better to mention their names not at all.

© 2006,  Darrell Arnold
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission. 



Cow Work is All That I Know

A snowflake is fallin'
The wild goose is callin'
The air's gettin' frosty and cold

My old achin' bone
Says that old Arizone
Is the place for a cowboy this old

For sixty-five years
I've looked past horses' ears
At great cowboy country I've known

Rode thirty-eight outfits
In nine western range states
Not once on a place of my own

It's time to make changes,
New horses, new ranges,
New bosses, new cooks and new cows

To tie hard or dally
In mountain or valley
It's freedom this lifestyle allows

No matter the changes
They're all cattle ranges
Small ranches and big outfits too

And all of it's cow-work
A fact that I can't shirk
It's all that I know how to do

Learn new ways to work 'em
To rope 'em and jerk 'em
It's all at the boss's desire

Some two-heel and drag em
Some two ropes to shag em
Each calf still ends up at the fire

There's quick throws with short ropes
Or long throws with high hopes
Brush poppers or bold buckaroos

They knew when I hired on
That someday I'd be gone
I earned it. I paid all my dues

It's time to make changes,
New horses, new ranges,
New bosses, new cooks and new cows

To tie hard or dally
In mountain or valley
It's freedom this lifestyle allows

No matter the changes
They're all cattle ranges
Small ranches and big outfits too

And all of it's cow-work
A fact that I can't shirk
It's all that I know how to do

Cinched double or single
My spurs always jingle
In sagebrush or cedar or pine

It's leggins in Texas
Or chinks on ZXs
This life and this work are just fine

Ride green broncs or made ones
On long trots or wild runs
Wide circles out under the sky

And someday, who knows where?
Out yonder, out somewhere
I'll ride till I fall off and die.

It's time to make changes,
New horses, new ranges,
New bosses, new cooks and new cows

To tie hard or dally
In mountain or valley
It's freedom this lifestyle allows

No matter the changes
They're all cattle ranges
Small ranches and big outfits too

And all of it's cow-work
A fact that I can't shirk
It's all that I know how to do

© 2011,  Darrell Arnold
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission. 


Darrell told us, "The poem/song was inspired by Mackey Hedges, a Great Basin cowboy about whom I wrote a story for the last issue of The Cowboy Way. Mackey is 70 years old and still out there living and working in a cow camp. His life has been turned into two fiction books he has written, The Last Buckaroo, and Shadow of the Wind. Both are considered classics and as true to cowboy life as you can get. That interview tells the story that's in this poem except that I'm not sure Mackey ever went any direction but 'buckaroo'..."

Partners, Really?

I had a dream the other night, as odd as it could be
About a conversation ‘tween my good cowhorse and me
We’d stopped beside a little spring to blow and get a drink
When big as life, my pony said, “I’ll tell you what I think

I think you humans don’t deserve to own the likes of us
Who labor underneath your hand without no fight nor fuss
Why horses is the greatest gift God ever gave to men
Imagine where you’d be if not for me and all my kin.”

Now when you’re in a dream, you know, ain’t nothin’ strange at all
‘Bout flyin’ like a common crow or crawlin’ up a wall
Or, in this case, engaging in a scholarly discourse
About the contributions of the equine with your horse.

Says I, “Now hold on there ol’ pard. I think I treat you right
I loosed yer cinch, I cooled your back, You’ve time to graze a bite.
Tonight you’ll get your grain and hay; tomorrow I’ll ride Jake.
I’ll turn you out; you’re workin’ hard, and you have earned a break”

Says Lucky (for that is his name) “You treat me fair enough
You shun the whip, you’re light of hand, your spurrin’ ain’t too rough,
But we’re not partners. No siree. A humble servant, I,
While you are master, lord, and king. ‘T’will be so till I die.
“Do I decide,” he yammered on, “what each day we will do,
Like gather rems, or sort the pens, or join the brandin’ crew?
Do I decide to follow bawlin’ cows in blowin’ snow?
Am I the one who gets to say just when and where we go?

‘Ol’ Pard,’ you call me. That’s a laugh. What equine partner would
Agree to have his parts removed and never be a stud?
Name any horse that would decide to work in leather trace
Instead of joining wild bands and freely roam and race.”

“Those wild bands,” I says to him, “ain’t really all that great.
They’ve got to fight to stay alive on sorry real estate.
Them horses starve and thirst to death, they struggle, don’t you see?”
“That may be so,” says he to me, “but still, they’re livin‘ free.”
“But don’t you see,” says I to he, “how soft and sweet your life?
I feed you, brush you, do the best to keep you from all strife
I trim you up and doctor you and take care of your feet
I buy you grain and pasture you. You eat all you can eat
And all I ask is that you help me work this little ranch
You’ve got security here, Pal, with nothin’ left to chance
I seldom ride you real hard, you’re never put up wet
In all our years together I have not abused you yet”
“The point I’m tryin’ to make,” says he, with toss of head and groan,
“Is horses can’t do what they want, their options ain’t their own
They have to do what people want, and people, as you know,
Have many times abused my ilk, and history tells it so
Ever since the first of men discovered they could ride,
They’ve tied us up and beat us down and climbed aboard our hide
And forced my race to carry them across the endless lands
And pull their plows and wagons often under cruelest hands
From charioteers in Egypt to the hoards of Genghis Khan,
We have carried Roman armies and obeyed the Spanish don
The truth of it, we’ve died for men in countless bloody wars
From wounds by arrow, lance, and sword. The choice was never ours
You gathered us by thousands from the plains of near and far
And sailed us to Europe to that first big world war
We pulled your heavy caissons through the clinging mud and mire
And bled and died by ball and bomb, oft’ screaming in the wire
We’ve hefted coal, we’ve packed your gold , we’ve shouldered heavy loads
We’ve hauled your freight and bore the means to build your towns and roads
We’ve frozen in the northland, we have fevered in the south
We have slogged through swamps and marshes and choked down in dust and drought
It’s slavery, equine slavery, as it’s been it still is so
It’s men decides a horse’s fate -- the kind of life we’ll know
And even if we live or die, there’s naught a horse can do
But yield or end up in a can. Now tell me it ain’t true.”
My pony had me wounded, and he knew it, that was sure
So he drove his dagger deeper and then twisted it some more
“But finally, by accident, you saved us from brute strife?
You built a new contraption that gave horses better life?
That noisy beast of alloyed steel that drinks but gas and oil
Engines of combustion spared the horse from hopeless toil
By doing our work for us it preserved a million lives
And turned us into backyard pets for hobbiests and wives.
And then, along came Dorrances, two brothers, Tom and Bill,
Who figured out a gentle way to bend a horse’s will
No longer were we forced to yield to heavy quirted hand
They whispered to us horses so that we could understand
Just what exactly you desired your equine serfs to do
they helped instead of forced us, and they taught their ways to you
And other owners like you, so at last we know a time
When horses have it easier and somewhat more sublime

But still you ain’t quite got it right,” he knocked me down again
“You make us live in tiny stalls--confined to 10 by 10
Impatiently you try to rush our growin’ up along
And ride us when we’re barely two, before our bones are strong
Why, back a hundred years ago, they broke us pretty rough
But not till we were five years old, more mature and tough
Today you race our Thoroughbreds before they reach age three
And break so many of us down, it’s criminal to see

And when we lose our beauty or slow down or get too old,
Your ‘partners,’ as you call us, likely end up being sold.
Then livestock is what we become. It’s seldom that you fail,
Like cattle, goats, or hogs, or sheep, to ship us to the sale.”
He crushed me with his logic, and I sat there mighty sad
I sat dumb as a bureaucrat. I sure as hell felt bad
But then, he did what horses do when they’re done pitchin’ fits
He settled down and licked his lip and let go of the bits

“I just want you to always know,” he said in kindly voice
Men bred the wildness out of us, It wasn’t horses’ choice
It’s now our nature to comply and yield to every task.
Appreciation, heartfelt, is not overmuch to ask.”
Right then, I woke up from that dream that caused a fitful night
Remembering all he had said, I knew my horse was right
We men of Earth have fallen short, in shame I must confess,
Of worthiness, compared to this grand beast of nobleness
From this day hence, may I, Dear Lord (I ask in humble prayer)
Respect and honor all that you have placed under my care
For you have been most generous in all that you provide
Including and especially these horses that I ride
For horses, as ol’ Lucky says, have been a special gift
That help men work and move around --you might say ‘lift and drift,’
Please help me treat the noble horse, from now until my end
As not my slave or servant but, instead, a valued friend.
© 2013,  Darrell Arnold
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission. 




Cowboy Poultry Gatherin'


Cowboy Poultry Gatherin' includes the following poems by Darrell Arnold:

Cowboy Poultry Gatherin'
What a Cowboy Knows
He Was the Wild West
Still Hangin' 'Round
Goodbye Ol' Horse
Love Like the Wind
Church Meetin'
Colorado Heart
Lost Treasure
The Boss of This Here Outfit
The Horseman
The Things a Cowboy's Got
Pronghorn Refrain
Cowboy Home
Jingle-Bob Music
Devil's Pride
Memories, Friends, and Eight-by-Tens
Tom Tobin and the Espinozas
The Hay-Day Dinner
Bill and the Barkeep
Wind of the West
Shorty's Funeral
Gettin' Acquainted
The Forgotten
Think Again
The Wagon Camp
Hailed Out
The Saddle and the Ring
Trail Drive
Summer Sky
Packer's Picnic
Dooley's Head
It's Hard to be a Cowboy
A Life of Leisure
The Great Debate
Prairie Night
Colorado Skies
Cowboy Christmas Mornin'
The Hunter
From Riches to Nags
The Wolf
Adios Montana

Cover illustration by Dick Spencer, interior illustrations by 
Walt LaRue, "Mad" Jack Hanks, Justin Wells, Dwayne Brech, Mike Craig, and Dick Spencer


Tales From Cowboy Country: Stories from COWBOY MAGAZINE

Tales From Cowboy Country: Stories from COWBOY MAGAZINE, edited by Darrell Arnold with a foreword by Red Steagall, is the second collection in a series, following the popular collection of humorous stories, Good Medicine, edited by Arnold with an introduction by Baxter Black.  

Tales from Cowboy Country is filled with the stories from the magazine, whose mission, according to editor and publisher Arnold, is to "tell the world about the cowboy, not the movie cowboy who is largely a mythological figure, but the working cowboy ­ the man on horseback who works cattle on the western ranches."  

The 34 stories and 4 poems include contributions from Darrell Arnold, Lori Babler, Barb Baker, Barbara Bockelman, H.W. Boozer, Margie Bradley, Jimbo Brewer, Tom Bryant, Red Cloud, W. O, "Dub" Covington, Chuck Cusimano, J. Cusimano, Robert Dennis, John Duncklee, Hank Elling, James Fisher, David Frazier, Don Hambrick, Jack Hanks, Oly Hermitt, A.V. Hudson, Don Jones, Frank Jordan, Billy Krieg, Landon Lamb, Walt LaRue, Mike Logan, Bill Lowman, Slim McNaught, Robert M. Miller D.V.M., Robin Morris, Raymond Price, Daryl Reed, Joe Ribary, Kenneth Romriell, Bonnie Shields, Viv Spencer, Red Steagall, Bob Strand, Colen Sweeten, Eugene C. Vories, Justin Wells and Stephen Zimmer.  




Good Medicine: Humorous Stories and Poems from COWBOY MAGAZINE

Good Medicine: Humorous Stories and Poems from COWBOY MAGAZINE, edited by Darrell Arnold with a foreword by Baxter Black.

This 2005 publication features the work of 34 writers and includes 28 stories and 8 poems, numerous illustrations and cartoons that have appeared in COWBOY MAGAZINE:

Story authors:
Frank Jordan, Robert Dennis, Chuck Cusimano, Robert M. Miller, Sally Harper Bates, Eugene C. Vories, Ken Romriell, Sam Dawson, Shirley Weaver, Rolf M. Flake, Red Wolverton, Noel Fell, Willard Hollopeter, Jimbo Brewer, Lou Udall, 'Mad' Jack Hanks, Landon W. Lamb, Billy Krieg, Robert Mitchell King, Tom Bryant, Ben Nichols, Jr., Barbara Bockelman, John Metts, Oly Hermitt, Roger Allgeier, Mackey Hedges, and Gary Dunshee.

Poets: Mike Logan, D.W. Groethe,
Larry McWhorter, Darrell Arnold, Doug Baker, Ken Romriell, and Colen H. Sweeten, Jr.

Artists/cartoonists: 'Mad' Jack Hanks, Bonnie Shields, Walt LaRue, Justin Wells, D.L. Frazier, A-10 Etcheverry, and Robert M. Miller.

Foreword by
Baxter Black.


The Cowboy Kind

The Cowboy Kind is an anthology of observations by contemporary cowboys and ranchers about their own lives and lifestyles. The book also features many excellent black-and-white photographs of those same cowboys and ranchers. The book is edited by Darrell Arnold and the photographs are all by Arnold. 

This thoughtful and insightful book has more than 120 black-and-white photographs and 170 quotes from ranching men and women.  Included are Baxter Black, RW Hampton, Wallace McRae, and Waddie Mitchell (whose edifying words describe the differences between "cowboys" and buckaroos" in tradition, equipment, vocabulary, and dress). The quotations are from interviews Arnold collected between 1975 and 2001. 


In the Shadow of the Peaks


In The Shadow of the Peaks is a photography book about southern Colorado with Darrell Arnold's photographs. 

The book is out of print.

Cowboys und Ranches Huete

Cowboys und Ranches Huete is a collection of some of Darrell Arnold's ranch stories that were published in book form in Germany. All the text is in German. The book includes many outstanding ranch photographs. 

This book is out of print.



COWBOY MAGAZINE was a quarterly publication dedicated to promoting and preserving the lifestyle of ranchers and cowboys. It is "by, for, and about the working ranch cowboy." Each issue contained contemporary and historic articles about cowboying, as well as supporting articles about cowboy craftsmen— ­ saddlemakers, bitmakers, spurmakers, hitchers, braiders, silversmiths, and so forth.

While the magazine did, from time to time, present articles about issues facing ranchers, the thrust of the magazine was primarily entertainment. Most of the articles told how cowboying is or used to be done, and much of it is told from the humorous perspective of the working ranch cowboy.

COWBOY MAGAZINE also featured some cowboy poetry, as well as reviews of cowboy music, cowboy poetry, and books of interest to cowboy-oriented people.

The magazine was published from 1990 through the fall of 2008. The magazine is no longer being published.

Contacting Darrell Arnold


Darrell.gif (52476 bytes)

Darrell Arnold
  P.O. Box 126
La Veta CO 81055








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