My Take Tuesday: The Cowboy

He is as tough as steel.

From 1970 to 1973, he was stationed in East Germany, tasked with slipping across the border into West Germany to capture reconnaissance photographs. The danger was ever-present. On one mission, his vehicle was narrowly missed by active gunfire. He lived every day under threat—but never flinched.

After his military service, he went on to serve 29 distinguished years with the Utah Highway Patrol. He became the head of the Utah County service office and was later appointed lieutenant commander of the Mounted Patrol during the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. He also served as bodyguard to Utah governors Norman Bangerter and Scott Matheson. His storied career is the kind of life most people only read about—an extraordinary journey carved from courage, loyalty, and grit.

As a child, I was enamored with He-Man action figures. My favorite was Man-At-Arms—the armored commander of the royal guard, fiercely loyal to He-Man himself. He had sharp brown eyes and a mustache, and in my young mind, he embodied strength, leadership, and unwavering dedication.

The first time I met Ken Peay, I felt like I was meeting Man-At-Arms in real life. He was everything that childhood hero stood for—loyal, strong, hardworking, and steadfast. A doting father. A quiet, tireless cowboy. A man of principle.

Somehow, this giant of a man became my friend.

Ken has volunteered hundreds of hours helping care for the reindeer herd at Mountain West Animal Hospital. He is the only person I trust implicitly with those animals. His calm demeanor and observant eye bring peace to even the most nervous reindeer.

Twice, I needed help transporting reindeer from western Oregon to Utah. Both times, Ken dropped everything. He drove his own truck, pulled a gooseneck trailer, and made the 900-mile trek to Eugene and back. He never hesitated. He just quietly showed up and did what needed to be done.

I could write dozens of stories like this—examples of selflessness, loyalty, and kindness. Ken is one of the finest men I have ever known. He is the best of the best, and I love him dearly.

Years ago, Governor Matheson succumbed to a vicious cancer called multiple myeloma—a relentless disease that attacks the bone marrow and immune system. In late 2023, Ken was diagnosed with the same cruel affliction.

But true to form, he faced it head-on. With the grit of a cowboy, he pulled on his boots, tipped his hat low, and endured months of brutal treatment. He weathered the side effects with stoicism and strength. And when it came time for a stem cell transplant, he bore the burden with quiet courage. Day by day, hour by hour, he began to heal. Slowly, he started to regain his strength.

Ken’s fight has taught me something: that toughness is not the absence of pain—it’s the refusal to surrender to it.

We all face storms. Sometimes they roll in quietly. Other times they hit like a freight train. They come in the form of illness, loss, relationship strain, or overwhelming change. For many, these storms feel like too much. The temptation to give up is real.

But I’ve learned from Ken—and from nature itself—that there’s another way.

A few winters ago, I passed a herd of bison standing in an open meadow during a fierce snowstorm. The wind howled. Snow fell in heavy sheets. And yet the bison did not run. They did not turn away. They faced the storm head-on.

In conditions that would kill entire herds of cattle, the bison stood firm, staring into the wind with a kind of calm defiance. There was wisdom in their stance—an ancient understanding that storms cannot be outrun, only endured.

Perhaps that’s the lesson: when life sends its blizzards, don’t turn your back. Stand your ground. Let the wind hit your face and the snow sting your skin. Be brave enough to feel the cold, and strong enough to keep going.

We don’t know how long the storm will last. But I believe we all weather it better when we face it together—with courage, determination, and a little borrowed strength from those who inspire us.

Ken, thank you for teaching me what it means to stand tall in the storm. You are a true cowboy—resilient, loyal, and strong.

I’m grateful for the good days ahead. And I’m grateful for the lessons you’ve etched on my heart.

And that is my take.

N. Isaac Bott, DVM