As a young girl, I was an affable sort who seldom entertained evil thoughts about anything or anyone. All that changed on the day I saw my first Roy Roger’s film. With only one look at his dreamy face, I was smitten to the core. Then when he slung his guitar over his shoulder and began crooning “Happy Trails To You,” I knew without a doubt that the “You” was me! Yes, Roy was speaking directly to my heart.

I kept my relationship with Roy a private matter. That is until someone tried to cut in line in front of me at the Paramount ticket booth. Even my controlled Presbyterian upbringing wasn’t enough to stop me from stomping on her foot. To be honest, I couldn’t figure out why anyone else even went to Roy’s movies. Didn’t they know that Roy meant them for only moi?

My world imploded on the day I learned that blankety blank Dale Evans was not only his Hollywood girlfriend, but also his real life wife! The injustice of it all was staggering. That is the precise moment when evil began twisting my freshly crushed and demoralized soul. Who did Dale think she was, anyway, coming between Roy and me?

Detestable Dale! I wanted to scratch out her beautiful eyes even though those were the days when I bit my fingernails and knew that wouldn’t work. But, Roy! Roy! How could you turn on me like that? You were nothing but a low down snake-in-the-grass, two-timin’ cad. A gorgeous, delicious, heavenly cad. My first lesson in the importance of not putting all my love into one basket was learned as my love boat took a sharp turn away from south of the border.

Well, harrumph! If Roy could rove, so could I! My second cowboy love was Jeff Chandler for who could resist his sultry eyes and sexy mustache. Shortly thereafter, I had a brief clandestine affair with Rory Calhoun, followed by Gary Cooper. Still, in the marrow of my bones, Roy (darn him!) remained on his pedestal.

He was, nonetheless, nearly knocked off that perch by the heart thumping Alan Ladd with whom I was deeply infatuated during fifth grade. That is until I learned that Alan also had a pedestal. His was a wooden box on which he stood for all camera shots where he stood next to anyone taller than he was. That included most of the population on the planet. Talk about my balloon deflating. Like what girl wanted to lug around an orange crate on a hot, steamy romantic night out on the town with Alan? Awkward!

There were some cowboys I could never have loved. Hopalong Cassidy was one because he always seemed like anybody’s uncle. Tom Mix turned off all my buttons and Lash LaRue was kind of ishy. Gene Autrey was way too nasally for my ear drums, Tex Ritter’s head was too small for his Stetson, and let’s face it, no one had the hots for Andy Devine or Gabby Hayes.

But to be perfectly honest, there was one fellow who did turn me on even though I knew our romance could never be. You see, those were the days when interracial marriages were frowned upon, so Jay Silverheels (otherwise known as “Tonto”), was taboo for an Austin girl like me. But, he had those manly outdoorish qualities that attracted girls like fruit flies to a ripe banana! And that fringe on his buckskin outfits could set a girl’s heart aflutter even though I’ll admit that his tight narrow headband was overkill.

Still, Mr. Hot Pants Rogers stubbornly held onto my bruised heart. Even Trigger had a place tucked away behind the wounded aorta. Some years later, as

fate would have it, the flame did fizzle out completely, though, when I learned that Trigger had died—and they’d stuffed him! I think they used Dale’s old pantyhose.

Peggy Keener is the author of the two award winning books “Potato in a Rice Bowl” and “Wondahful Mammaries.”