When Robert Lewis Sherman was a child with wide-open eyes, he knew this: He would be a cowboy named “Cheyenne”, spit whenever he felt like it, and wear a Stetson low on his brow. He would gnaw on a tooth-pick, kick doors open, and drink strong bitter coffee.
When he turned 21, his eyes were mere slits and he trusted no one, believed in no one, and growled at everyone. Robert “Bad Man” graduated from Berkeley with great expectations.
Now Robert “Loner” Sherman worked at a Wal-Mart at the Optical department where he was an optometrist, a surprise to his family and especially to himself.
The only connection he had now to his cowboy dream was a pony named “Shaggy” he had adopted and kept stabled at a nearby ranch.
His Saturdays were spent in two ways: grooming Shaggy, and/or making extra cash at kids’ birthday parties as “Cowboy Bob” with his wily pony whose stage name was “Thunder”.
Oddly, those were the happiest hours of his endlessly mind-numbing days.
Then came Samuel and his damned third birthday…