I understand why cowboys drink.
I attended my first rodeo yesterday. First, let me say that I rarely go to large buildings where an uncountable number of people sit to watch other people do things. No baseball games, football games, hockey games. In fact the last time I was in such a situation was an anti-war get together (it was concerning the other stupid war that the Democrats — that time — had started). Similarities: a hard wooden seat, pyrotechnics, and manure.
What was new and refreshing at the rodeo was the courage of the people I watched do things. On the way to the hard wooden seat I walked past stalls and cages of animals. The small, fuzzy ones in the cages were dear but as I progressed to the arena the animals I walked past kept getting larger and more muscular until I was sashaying past the rear end of huge horses, the last group being draft. If you were there, I was the woman in black, nose encapsuled in her black scarf (so many enclosed animals, so much end products of food and water) muttering soothing words as she passed by the fore and aft of glossy horses:
“Excuse me, sweetie, I am back here. I come in peace.”
“Looking good today. Keep all four of those well shod feet on the sawdust.”
“I’m just going to oodge by here. Have good show — don’t break a leg (kicking out at me).
“Yes, I know you have gorgeous teeth — not imbedded in my flesh, please.”
My walking part, though trepidatious, was easy. I recovered on my hard seat, knitting and watching preparations going on in the dirt oval below me. People then began climbing onto the horses I had just walked by — climbing on sometimes after the irritant of a cinch strategically placed in a sensitive area had been put on the beast. Ditto bulls. Women were not excluded. At one time 50 horses with women riders galloped in patterns on the dirt. In the dark.
During the barrel races, a single (or widowed) woman sped around barrels and back to the starting shute. (One contestant rode around the barrels in a different direction which hastened me to worry that points would be added, so into it all I was — until someone behind me cleared it up=”Oh, she’s left handed.”)
All this comes down to courage. Courage to get on these whimsical, unpredictable beasts. After watching cowboys lasso, harness, fall off of, get smashed I needed some Jack Daniels.
I understand why cowboys drink.