Where have all the Cowboys gone?

I used to know a cowboy. He was everything a cowboy should be. He was from a small town, and he treated people the way they do in small towns... the way they ought to be treated. He would always say hello in such a way that even over the phone you expected him to be tipping his hat to you. He often wore a polished and proper-looking vest with his suits and walked with a funny sort of gait that said he'd spent too much time on a horse. I don't think he really had, but I thought it suited him and thought so anyway. His name was Robert Redford. Now, you who know me are aware, I'm not into blonds, and he is blond. Robert though, had a way about him that made his hair color completely unimportant to me. He had blue eyes and a steady gaze right into my soul. When he locked his eyes on my soul I knew he could read the story of my life, just for looking. He looked into my soul and loved all of it. The true and honest love you can talk about freely. He was a good man, a very good man. Pure Quality. He and I used to sit outside in the grass in the afternoons and read books to each other. I spent many late nights listening to him read to me the adventures of Huckleberry Finn. At first we switched off reading to each other, but he was so good at making the voices for the characters, he made the book just come to life! He used to pick wildflowers from the roadside and present them to me in a big bunch. Sometimes he would present me with a rose from his grandmother's rosebush. He had an innocent and jovial kind of laugh, the kind that makes me smile to think of, and laugh to hear. It made me laugh even when I was trying to pretend to pout. We laughed a lot. He told me stories of the rodeo events he had done, and adventures of his life. Sometimes we'd have adventures of our own. One black night we went rowing in a lake. It was so dark we couldn't see our hands in front of our faces and we had quite an adventure not knowing what sounds we heard and where we were on the lake. We rowed around a while, listening to the water lap, and trying to figure out where we were in relation to the shore. It was fun and we scared ourselves with our imaginations. He loved adventure, and was always full of one kind of fun or other. One day we went out for a horse ride in the mountains. It was a drizzly day, but that didn't matter to either of us. We each took a horse and rode up into the mountains along a small, and well worn trail. He had ridden there many many times and knew the land off the trail as well as he could ever know the trail, so eventually we went down an embankment, across the river and branched out into my unknown. After a while of riding, we stopped for a little bit to enjoy the scenery and the horses seized the opportunity to snack on the grass and wildflowers that covered the ground. We decided to run them a bit. As we did, I pulled my horse alongside his in an attempt to pass him, and in his typically playful fashion he swatted my horse, which sent us lurching ahead and then with an emphatic buck, off I flew right onto the ground! Plop! The ground was wet and soft, so it didn't hurt at all, but I made sure Robert was perfectly aware that had I landed even an inch to my left I would have landed on a rock and possibly broken my tailbone! And how would he have liked that!? He exhibited the proper amount of lighthearted remorse and brought my horse back to me. He really was a lot of fun. The two of us danced a lot together too. He was a good dancer and a patient teacher. We learned to Rumba together, he taught me to waltz, and taught me new swing dances as well. As a cowboy naturally would be, he was well built and very active. As a cowboy naturally would, he was passionate and strong, and his zest for life was insatiable. Robert Redford was also very intelligent, we would often speak for hours about this or that political view, our theories on various social concerns, and health care topics and ideas. He was sure he wanted to be a doctor or a dentist, but had no idea which of the two. He was always funny that way, very ambitious, but undecided. He needed a reason to choose something. He brought me to a world I'd only read about in books. One that I loved to be in. We were very often at his grandmother's house, and at Christmas there was a train that ran around a track under the tree. There always seemed to be some food littered in cheese that he'd just heated up for me. We occasionally listened as his grandmother told stories of how life was for his grandfather, who was a cowboy out on the plains. Herding cattle and roping and all kinds of things. He would say jovially and in a way that made you wonder if he were serious, that he wanted to have a life like that. She would then reply that she wouldn't let him be a plains cowboy, because it was dangerous and he was her boy. Then they'd both laugh and he would sweetly say, "Oh, Grandmother." He was always singing pieces of songs around the house, and often one about how he wished he was a cowboy. Robert Redford was Such a cowboy. He was such the cowboy that even though when I was with him I felt like a priceless jewel, for how he treated me, I often simultaneously knew that I was but a jewel in his collection of jewels in life. Not that his other jewels were other women. He was too... perfect for that sort of trickery. He was though as impossible for me to catch as was the wind. He was determined that I was to yield first. It was just as well... I would not yield first, and would not be caught by his attempts to make me either. I was to him, a wild pony that would not be tamed. This wild pony loved the wind in her hair. What a fun-filled chase for the both of us. I don't know that it would have gone anywhere had we tried it, as much of an adventure as it would have been. He eventually moved away and he would call every now and again to give me a taste of his simple regality. One night he called me to tell me that he was walking through a large park, it was dark except a little light from the moon, and it was perfectly silent as the snow was falling lightly around him. After a bit of conversation about it, and my daydreaming awe and wonder at the perfect picture he'd painted, I asked him why else he called. He replied that was the only reason, just to tell me of the magical moment he was in. He is married now, to a lovely girl who is his obvious match, and since then I've heard from him only once. He called me to thank me for being such a good friend to him. That was precious to me and I knew what he meant by it. See, he knew I loved him as I knew he loved me. It was often said between us, and often followed with "...but I'm not 'in love' with you..." to which we'd both laugh. Those days are gone, and that's ok. I'm so happy for the happiness in his life. I doubt I'll ever see him again, and I wonder if he is the only man like him. And so I ask... are there any other cowboys left in this fast-paced and materialistic world? I've given up on princes with their white stallions and castles in the clouds, but I know that cowboys really do exist... where are they? I know there's got to be even one more out there, somewhere out where the west was won.