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Everything you need to know about Cindy K. Roberts - This page has been grouch tested.
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"Rebellious to this day because her parents insisted she adjust to kindergarten and attend school, little Cindy shows her independence by riding her pony with other kindergarten outlaws." |
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On bad hair days, it is sometimes hard to convince horse owners that just a short time ago Rawhide was a pinup girl with her own poster sales; Rawhide had her own line of picnic baskets, t-shirts, and note cards that were sold online. Rawhide has already learned that the competition is getting younger; being a centerfold mule does have its ups and downs. I started showing my ass, in 1987; that is when Rawhide’s true show career began. Rawhide took 5th place out of 120 horses at the Bridle Spur Hunter Pace. That mule is used to being snubbed by the general public but now believes she is due to her hard-earned celebrity status. After being slighted by hoity-toity show riders, Rawhide decided that taking dressage lessons while riding under the well-renowned Grand Prix instructor Frank Grelo, would be the logical thing to do. However, Frank thought differently about the matter.
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In hopes of reducing stress in my life, I took a shot at Cowboy Mounted Shooting but the competitive nature of the sport In 2002, Rawhide pretended she had arthritis and I began looking for another mount. After several equine purchases and trading horses, a paint horse named "Cowboy" loped into my life. Things haven’t been the same since, especially my checking account. In the meantime, Rawhide was caught at her game of faking "arthritis"; she developed the passion of galloping in the pasture with her new buddies and has never looked back. Rawhide now lives on the East Coast with an adoring family that is forgiving of her shenanigans. The family called me a couple of years ago to tell me it was time for Rawhide to cross the rainbow bridge. I understood and cried all the same; mules are so special and the heart never mends when you lose an equine friend.
Now that Cowboy the Paint Horse is taking up space in my life, I feel I must work with him. He is good by horse standards but like his owner, he's immature for his age. He can whip a snarling coyote but he can't stare down the neighbor's dog. I worked at saving his image and encouraged him to live up to his potential by taking him out west. Today, Cowboy's large ego, good looks, and debonair- style, give him enough confidence for him to believe that someday he will have his own TV talk show. Cowboy's own special talents have been roped in by a couple living in Cody, Wyoming. They had to have him, and it was Christmas. Older, wiser, and having a flair for adventure along with a fascination for chiggers, I spent time with my bay mule, "Diablo" (yes he has a dark side) on the
I've ridden a lot of rough mules that inspired me to write of my adventures; some stayed a long while and others stayed a short time, especially if they didn't apply themselves. Then Cabo came into my life. Cabo Wabo put a whole new meaning in the term, "Hormone Rage"; after being bitten, kicked, thrown, and trampled on, I've learned to keep my eyes open wide all the time while bridging my reins. This mule is a hoot; now I think she really likes me, or is it the margaritas? (wink.) My secret life, as an experienced and proven bartender with a love for baking, enticed me to write my second cookbook The Rhinestone Cowgirl Cookbook. And a third, The Desperados Cookbook & Guide To Common Sense. Filled with recipes that feature alcohol as the main ingredient. Two cookie intoxications and one accidental fire later, my attorney advised me to place a warning label inside the book along with a liquor/liqueur substitution page. Now successful book sales prove that I am not a complete failure and utter embarrassment to my family and friends. (Meet my family.)
Bartending was fun and hard work however I kept a day job to have health insurance; I worked for a circuit judge who had a lot of patience. A professional-looking clerk with a nervous twitch during the day, I mostly dropped file folders on the floor and ran for coffee; at night I turned into a bartender-superhero who dressed like the captivating cocktail superwoman with the ultimate cleavage. This photo gets smaller as I age. ---------------------->
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Of course, between myself, Debra, and Caren, we sold a lot of Budweiser. When the bar owner paid the electric bill, we had lights, a jukebox, and cold beer. During the winter on a slow night at the bar, I developed Every Cowboy's Dream website; with the help of a couple of cute guys, had never seen a horse much less a pair of jingle bob spurs, other than dream about them. Clearly, that website was heading for the gutter, so I took the reins back into my own hands, burned Every Cowboy's Dream, and left for Mexico to think things over. While spending time with Juan Manuel Padilla, riding through downtown Mexico on the handlebars of his bicycle; I had time to think. Two enchiladas and three margaritas later, I developed a chest cold and the now-successful Every Cowgirl's Dream (www.everycowgirlsdream.com). I returned to the United States and left both my jobs to focus on my website, Every |
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 Now, published in several equine publications along with a high-fiber diet, I stay active and move in different directions. In search of adventure, I chase after western stars on and off the prairie to feature in my entertaining articles that are offered for publication. |
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In need of a dance partner, I thought it best to find a husband. Having no luck with eBay, I went to a sale barn and traded for a guy with great athletic conformation, high spirit, and brains. We had a simmering cowboy wedding ceremony with a herd of wild horse flies, drunken relatives, and cowboy saddle pals to wish us the best. Heat exhaustion persuaded us to cool things down by celebrating our honeymoon in New Orleans. Days later, Hurricane Katrina struck and we were deserted in our hotel room in the French Quarter, I then realized the haltered one was lacking in ground manners. Out of estrogen, Walgreens was boarded up for the storm, I decided that now was the time to bust out. By the grace of God and forcing our will onto a walrus-size liquor salesman with a weak heart and bad breath, we were able to pile into his luxury SUV while the streets were in disarray. There were six of us: Uncle Lou the sweaty liquor salesman was at the wheel, a new guy named Joe suffering from a work disability, a Sharon Stone-look-a-like liberal, a Canadian lawyer DWI ticket fixer, and us the knucklehead newlyweds aka, Perry Mason and The Rhinestone Cowgirl. Uncle Louie doing 110 m.p.h. down the back roads to get to the Interstate while swerving around alligators. At this point, I focused on keeping myself balanced as the group voted I should take the seat behind Uncle Louie, propped on top of an opened box of Southern Comfort. This was an unbelievably long, adventure movie with no popcorn. Now, I will share this: I thank my lucky stars that we made it out of a city that faced horrible destruction from the tropical storm Katrina. Every person that went through the terrible ordeal has a different story. I am grateful for mine because my life is very different now . . . I know that I am blessed. |
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Recently I took up with the Desperados of the Wagon's West Expedition; riding with descendants of notorious outlaws, horse thieves, Texas Rangers, and soiled doves of the Wild West. Holed up at the N Bar Ranch in the Gila Mountain Wilderness, I wrote their story. Trying to slow down and lead a tamer lifestyle, I announced I was leaving the desperado group when the Wagon Master pulled a pistol on me; it was then I was convinced, I was a life-member because I knew too much. So this is where I am, riding with the desperado bunch at a fast pace while retired horse thief, Sagebrush Sandy sees to it we say our prayers at night. This is just some of the gang shown below: |
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