Cowboys do Exist Tuesday, August 26, 2008

After moving out west last summer, I was introduced to a new concept—RODEO.    
The first thing that crossed my mind, as it always does, was what the world I was going to wear. Despite my well thought out efforts, I stuck out like a sore thumb— but it wasn’t because of what I was wearing.  Apparently there is a certain amount of hairspray that goes into getting ready for a rodeo.  At one point I thought the lady next to me was going to catch on fire when she lit her cigarette. 
Close to 3,000 people filled the grandstands and the night began.  After recognizing all the veterans and current service men and women in the crowd and a brief cry session by emotional basket case yours truly, the announcer asked if there were any first-time rodeo goers present.  Excited, I stood up smiling and waved, of course catching the attention of everyone around me. 
I could feel dirty looks glaring at me from all angles.  No one believed me—not even the announcer.  I quietly sat back down.   
The first event of the night was called bare back riding.  From the looks of it, the object was to hold on to a bucking horse as long as possible.  The name didn’t make much sense to me though because there was definitely something in between the cowboy and the horse.  Despite the confusing name, the event was still quite entertaining.    
The next event was called calf roping.  Thankfully, the name of this event made a little more sense.  In calf roping, a cowboy (or cowgirl—not that I saw any, but let’s be politically correct here) chases a calf on horseback, lassoing it with his rope.  He then proceeds to jump off his horse, tackle the calf, and tie three of its legs together. 
Everyone around me swore to me it didn’t hurt the little guy, but I couldn’t get over the look in his eyes laying in the middle of a dirt pen surrounded by thousands of people with three legs tied together.  In the calf’s honor, I staged a protest at the beer tent the next go around.
During my protest I heard a few people talking about something called mutton busting.  Intrigued, I listened in. From what I gathered, mutton busting is nothing more than a bunch of kids riding around on sheep until they fell off.  Rumor has it, it gets pretty wild—but don’t worry, they wear helmets. 
On my way back to my seat, I received more than my fair share of eye bullets (aka dirty looks) from the lovely ladies in attendance.  Perplexed as to why, I consulted a veteran rodeo goer who had been showing me the ropes.  “They can smell the city girl in you,” she said with a smile.  How did they know?!    
As the events came to an end, we made our way to the beer garden for the post- rodeo dance.  Before long, I found myself dancing with a cowboy who was spinning me around so fast I almost wound up on the floor.  In between dances I asked him what he did for a living, and his response still rings in my ears to this day:  “I ride bulls, ma’am.” 
Cowboys really do exist.  Who knew?