My First Rodeo

 It has actually and finally happened: I found an occasion to say "sorry, this is only my first rodeo."

The truth of the matter is, I wasn't actually sorry. I was stoked.

If you've read this blog at any point over the last decade, you'll know how connected I've been to cowboy culture, how my grandad was a cowboy, how my family is scattered all over Texas, how SoCal gave birth to the silver screen cowboys that I grew up watching. So I'm sure you can imagine, once I heard about the opportunity to participate in a real, honest-to-Gene Autry, local rodeo, I was ecstatic. 

Saturday afternoon found me and my siblings at the Rusty Richards Arena at the Circle S Ranch, representing a small gaggle of part-time cattle sorters from Trails End Ranch just down the road. My trusty arena pal, Rip was my companion again, and my new, shiny spurs flashed in the golden, Silverado Canyon sun. 

My mission was simple: win the commemorative belt buckle. My mission was also basically impossible. 

Team after team signed the roster. Seemingly thousands of riders poured into the arena, though it was probably only about 30 or so. My chances of winning were about the same chance of  German shepherd filing my taxes on time (you know how bad they are at standardizing deductions).

But to me, it didn't matter. I was just happy to be there. Rip was ambivalent. 

My first round came. As soon as Rip and I crossed the starting line, the judge gave us a number, and we were to find the corresponding cow. We got him, and cut him out. Great start. The thrill of it all was just too much for Rip. His horsey endorphins went into overdrive and he took me on a grand victory lap around the arena. 

Oh boy did he run; gleefully careening toward fences and people. While my longsuffering teammates continued sorting cattle in the appropriate order, I was begging Rip to salvage my cowboy reputation to all the other cowboys who could, at this point, probably tell I was a bit of a greenhorn. 

Suddenly, a blonde horse with braided mane caught Rip's eye and ol lover boy made a beeline and stopped right along side her. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't mind hanging out with a cute blonde now and then, but business is business. I finally convinced Rip to get back to work and we sorted a few more in order before the clock ran out, ending our round with an incomplete job. 

Team after team filled the next hour, placing impressive scores and displaying impressive horsemanship. Deep down, I hoped Rip was paying attention. "That's how its done, Rip", I told him, "See how they stick to the job and don't leave or nothing?" Somehow, I don't think Rip was listening. Mentally, he was somewhere else, probably filing taxes with a German Shepherd. Good luck with that.

Our second turn came, full of hope and low of expectations. 

"Rider, when you cross the line, your time will start," said the judge. "Let's go," I told Rip. 

Rip stood still. 

"Rider, you may cross the line when you're ready," the judge implored.

"C'mon, Rip", I said to a very motionless horse. 

At this point, I briefly wondered if I had mistakenly saddled the hitching post by mistake, but I felt him slowly begin walking and I was relieved to find at least a partial horse under all that leather and tack. 

We cut out the first cow, and no sooner had Rip faced the other way when lil Blondie caught his eye again. No victory lap this time, it was straight to that Jezebel horse to say howdy again. 

"You gotta pull the reins," offered a nearby cowboy who could sense I was a little out of control. 

I pulled the reins, but my goo-goo eyed horse was bent on letting that blonde ruin his life. Trust me, I've been there myself, but there's a time for everything and this wasn't it. By the time I finally got Rip back to work, my team was struggling keeping the small herd of cattle together. Rip and I made a few close saves, but at the last minute, a crafty calf snuck by out of order, rendering us disqualified for that round. 

Back to the sidelines we went, spending the rest of the evening gathering the cattle that wandered from the hold between rounds, talking with more experienced cowboys, and basking in the glory of realized childhood dreams. 

Needless to say, I won no buckle. I didn't win anything that could be claimed on my taxes (to the relief of a certain doggy). But I walked away with the biggest smile and fondest memory of my first rodeo. 

In spite of the challenges, I think I'm ready for the second.