06/15/2025
Father’s Day in Scenic: A Tale of Butch Cowsidy, Cowlamity Jane, and Buckaroo Bovine
The sun rose bright over the Badlands, casting long shadows across the craggy buttes and dusty plains of Scenic, South Dakota. In a pasture just behind the old Scenic Bar, a family of three stood side by side: Butch Cowsidy, his mama Cowlamity Jane, and his legendary bull daddy, Buckaroo Bovine.
Butch had been practicing his kicks all morning, sending prairie dog mounds flying with dramatic flair.
“Look, Mama! I think I’m gettin’ the hang of Daddy’s signature spin!” he mooed proudly, twisting his back legs mid-air and falling into a clumsy heap.
Cowlamity Jane chuckled. “You’ll be buckin’ cowboys clean into next week in no time, sugar calf.”
Buckaroo Bovine gave a proud snort, dust puffing from his nostrils like steam from a train. “It takes grit, son. And a good aim for the soft spots.”
Today was no ordinary Sunday. It was Father’s Day, and Buckaroo was booked to perform at the Scenic Rodeo Roundup. The whole town had turned out for it, including a herd of lean Corriente steers and bulls, the unsung heroes of team ropin’ and bulldoggin’. Their families gathered in the pasture too—young calves cheered, mama cows waved their tails like flags, and proud papas stood tall in the sagebrush.
The rodeo announcer’s voice boomed through the air:
“Next up in the buckin’ chute—get ready for the baddest bull this side of the Missouri—Buckaroo Bovine! And climbin’ aboard, the Aussie legend himself—Troy DunnRiding!”
Gasps echoed across the arena—and the pasture. Butch’s eyes went wide. “That’s the guy who rides anything with hooves!”
Not today.
With a flick of his tail and a grunt from deep in his chest, Buckaroo launched out of the chute like a freight train made of fury. He twisted, he turned, he popped a mid-air double-decker corkscrew that sent Troy DunnRiding sailin’ like a gopher in a dust devil. The crowd roared, boots stomped, and little Butch let out a yee-haw that startled a pair of prairie chickens out of the grass.
Later that evening, music poured from the windows of the Scenic Bar—a mix of fiddle, steel guitar, and the clatter of cowboy boots dancing on old wooden floors.
Butch, Cowlamity Jane, and Buckaroo Bovine stood outside, gazing through the window at the rodeo dance. Cowboys spun cowgirls under strings of lights, and laughter drifted out like smoke. But the best view of all was the pasture reflection in the glass—families gathered in the golden twilight, calves curled up next to their papas, and Corriente mamas gossiping under the cottonwoods.
“Happy Father’s Day,” Cowlamity whispered to Buckaroo, her tail brushing his.
“You gave this ranch a legend... and you gave Butch his fire.”
Buckaroo snorted softly, nudging Butch closer to them both.
“And you gave me a reason to quit fightin’ fences and start buildin’ a family.”
That night, with the stars glittering above and the honky-tonk hum lulling them to sleep, Butch dreamed of rodeo glory, barroom dances, and the day he’d buck off his own cowboy—right there in Scenic, South Dakota, with his mama and daddy watchin’ from the window.
And maybe, just maybe, a Father’s Day story of his own.
