Wrangler Jeans

Today I laid to rest my favorite pair of jeans. I knew this day was coming. The last few years have been tough on those rugged Wranglers purchased off the shelf at Coral West Ranchwear in the Mining City of Butte Montana. The first time I pulled them on they felt great. They were my "good" jeans, only worn for special events. Looking sharp with a pearl snap shirt and cowboy boots at the Butte Vigilante Rodeo. Always ready for a night on the town, my Wranglers never turned down a date for some honky-tonkin' at some of the hot spots. The Met, Maloneys, The Vu-Villa or Sams Place. Me and my jeans seen them all. The Rockin' R in Bozeman, Tiny's in Billings, Reds in Missoula and Nicks Bluebird in Rocker. They've seen the High Line in Havre, the mountains in Glacier and Yellowstone. The rode with me through Washington and Oregon. I had them on in Seattle, San Francisco, Reno and Las Vegas. They always traveled well. As time passed they began to fade and we started spending less time together. Instead of a night out, we spent early mornings and afternoons out on the river fishing for trout. We walked through the hills hunting rocky mountain elk. Nothing could compare to the feeling I felt, me and my jeans tightend by a belt. We gathered brush, cleaned the house, shoveled several inches of snow and we even got on a horse at a ranch in Ramsay with the Rosin brothers. We played golf and guitar, we ate dinner and even laid on the couch. I miss them already. We moved to Wisconsin and soon they spent more time on the shelf. One day I remembered my ragged old jeans and thought of all the places and things that we seen. I smiled and put them on, snug at the belly and tight at the hip, a pair of jeans like this you never forget. We had good times and bad, some happy, some sad. Those were some of the best days I've ever had. So long to my Wranglers you've been a great friend, I always liked wearing you right up to the end.