Sheep riding? Bull Hockey!

I live in the country, surrounded by farm animals and miles of corn and soybeans. I lived in New York City for close to a decade, surrounded by concrete, steel and six or seven million people all wanting to live on the same three square miles. For the remaining years I existed in Suburbia, complete with strip malls, parking lots and overprotective mothers. My point being – I have not lived an isolated life – I’ve been around. I didn’t think there was much left on U.S. soil that could surprise me!

And then my family attended our first rodeo.

I’ve seen rodeo events on television – I knew to expect the barrel racing, the bronco riding, and the bull riding. I knew, theoretically, that such events are dangerous. I wasn’t prepared for the adrenaline and pure terror rush of seeing a 3,000 pound bull stomp on a 150 pound man. I screamed and yelled myself hoarse – and I’m NOT a screamer. My poor girls had their heads buried in my armpits as they sobbed with terror. I kept reassuring them that 1) the cowboys were professionals, they knew what they were doing and they did it often and 2) they were doing this because they loved it and 3) they were all probably a wee bit funny in the head.

The kids weren’t impressed: the girls kept asking to leave (but we were on the top of the crowded bleachers) and the boy just pulled out a book and read. I basically told them to suck it up – it wasn’t THAT bad!

And then we entered the stupid zone. Otherwise known as audience participation.

First came the small children, riding really ticked off sheep. A three year old child was released from the shoot hanging tightly onto the neck of a large sheep that did NOT want to be there and did NOT want this wee child riding it! The sheep darted this way and that as the child fell sideways off of the sheep dangerously close to the animal’s pounding hooves. The second child, also age three, held on longer and barely missed having his small, unprotected head rammed into the metal fencepost at an alarming speed. The sheep then vaulted the child over its head and the child landed, face-first and open-mouthed, in the dirt. The weeping toddler was carried off the field.

To be fair, the children, aged three through six, seemed to be having a wonderful time. But I was shocked on many levels. One, the children did NOT wear protective headgear – how insane is that? And that’s only an issue after you’ve decided, as a parent, to put your toddler on the back of a sheep (NOT an animal designed or trained for carrying people) and hope for the best while you laugh and take pictures! I still won’t let our seven year old cross our narrow, country street to get the mail – because I’m not convinced he’ll be safe!

And then I realized it was some genetic bent towards “stupid rodeo tricks” that allowed parents to volunteer their offspring. I’ll explain…

The next game was “Bull Hockey” and they asked for volunteers. My husband and I figured it was a hockey game played with manure – stinky but safe.

We were wrong.

Eight men volunteered to enter the arena after signing waivers guaranteeing they wouldn’t sue in case of death or dismemberment. These men formed two teams with each team having a “goal” zone made by metal barrels. The professional cowboys and the bull fighter (rodeo clown) LEFT the field to these idiots then released one large, horned, angry bull. The men were instructed to make the bull go through their team’s goal.

The brain-damaged males then attempted to grab the bull and direct him through their team’s goals. The bull, surprisingly, was not amenable to this task, and proceeded to attempt to shish-kebob the testosterone soaked cretins that were interrupting his day. One man received a slash to his face that would require stitches, and another fell under the bull’s stomping hooves. He was able to scoot under the gate to safety while a team member pummeled the bull’s head to distract the animal from the kill zone.

Finally, after an eternity, the buzzer sounded and professional cowboys entered the arena to guide the animal away. I ceased screaming and dug my children out from the floorboards – it was over! My husband directed my attention to the arena where the men were AGAIN forming sides in preparation for the next bull. The idiots were going to do it again!!!

At this point we grabbed our children and bags and pushed through the people below us until we were close enough to the ground to jump off the side of the bleachers. It was over the children’s heads – but they vaulted to the ground without hesitation - and kept running. We were close on their heels as the five of us sprinted away from the crowd’s roar towards safety and sanity.

I could be wrong, but I’m thinking we’re just not “rodeo” people!