Rodeo Time!

Every year in Houston, there is a certain three week window where the city as a whole lets their inner cowpoke out. That would be the three weeks of the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, the world's "richest rodeo" in terms of purses handed out to the winning cowboys and cowgirls. Each night, there are musical performers (usually country stars, although they do try to sneak in a few pop acts) who take the big stage following the real rodeo show, full of bucking broncs and bulls gone wild, racing chariots and cowboys tackling steers.
When I was a child, I loved the rodeo. I loved the smells, the sounds, the entire animal atmosphere. We went every year, as my father's employer frequently gave him four-packs of tickets. When I was in college, I worked the rodeo for an internship program one year and realized how much my interest in animal welfare had changed my perception. I went to the rodeo show one night the whole time I was there and left in disgust. When I watched the cowboys slam the calves down to tie their feet, I could feel their ribs hit the ground and had only ears for their bawling and fear. I remember going to the coffeehouse and writing about that sensation, and how I felt about the rodeo when I was a child compared to that moment.
However, my perceptions have changed again. Call it desensitization, or perhaps just acceptance of a certain amount of pain in life, but my oldest son and I got a kick out of going to the big bull and bronc competitions at the fairgrounds in the little town in Oregon where we lived. We loved it, and it was a bonding experience for us. Since we have moved back to Texas, I have taken him to the HLSR every year. It is something special that we do together.
It is through my son that I am able to see the rodeo through the eyes of a child again, instead of through the eyes of an "animal welfarist" (next time I see Temple Grandin, I'm gonna have to ask her about the cortisol levels in those calves before and after hitting the floor). Through his perceptions, I am able to recapture the magic that the rodeo held for me at that age.
Sunday, we made our annual pilgrimage. Each year, we mix it up and do things a different way. Last year when we went, we just did the carnival rides together and checked out the vendors. The year before, we sat through the rodeo part but left before the performers, and instead went out to the carnival. This year, I mostly wanted to watch the livestock - no performances, no rides. I wanted the low-budget, more authentic experience, "take me back to my roots and what I loved about it" kind of experience.
I had to stand by my guns to even get there in the first place, because he was dragging his heels and my husband was questioning my decision. Once we left, we were slowed down a bit by my desire to hit some of the local geocaches. We found one right across the highway from Reliant, but then as I made it to the stadium, I got a PAF (phone-a-friend) from another cacher and it distracted me, and I ended up getting in the wrong parking line. The actual line for where I needed to park was horrendous. By the time we got in the gates, almost two hours had passed from the time we had left our house.
It struck me as we moved in a group of people from the parking to the tram to the lines and gates how far we've come in civilization. Over a hundred years ago, drovers on horseback pushed the cattle across the plains to the railroad and markets, to places like Kansas and California. We cross a road on the way to the rodeo named Old Spanish Trail after one of these such routes. Today, a "trail boss" in city blue directs us, the bawling herd, through the passages and into the correct chutes. We are pushed and prodded and forced along, head to butt, with the mass of herd. Think I am wrong? Try moving quickly in a different direction than the rest of the herd and see how quickly you are pushed back in line. As soon as you think you are free from the constraints of the herd, a baby stroller comes along, or large group of teenagers holding hands, and back you go, assimiliated into the Borg Herd. Moo to you, too.

I had spent some time researching what times the various events I wanted to see this year were showing, but I never stopped to look at who the performer was this day. Oh boy, was I excited when I figured it out - Hannah Montana, aka Miley Cyrus. This explains the terrible wait for parking. Thousands of young girls dressed in their cute pink boots, leggings, bling belts, and cowboy hats were all over the place. Attendance at the show this day would reach about 73,000 and here they all were, all over the carnival grounds before the show. It was sheer madness and the number of people around me was making me claustrophobic.

This day, I wished for the "olden days", for the way it used to be. I'm talking about the Astrodome and Astrohall. Before Reliant Stadium was built, we had our rodeo at the Astrodome complex, and even though it is roughly the same place, I swear these buildings are spread out more AND they changed the layout of the different sections of the livestock show. I used to know exactly where everything was, and there was an area you could go see all the animals competing around that time in their stalls and tethered to the fence. Where the heck are the animals now? I see where the map tells me they are supposed to be, but we are walking in crazy circles around the vendors and AGventure kids area and no animals are to be found. We watch the Santa Gertrudis youth show for awhile, but then both of us decide we want to go see the horses. I am so glad my son suggested this because it was my desire as well.

Getting to the Reliant Arena where the horse show was held was a huge pain, across and behind the carnival grounds and the sea of people. To top off my irritation, my son had been dressed by Grandma that day in shorts that were too big for him, and he had to keep stopping to hitch up his pants and eventually decided he could not keep doing that and hold his lasso he bought, and now he wanted me to carry it.

We were both so glad to finally reach our destination, and slide into cool seats in the dark of a small audience to watch the cutting horse competition. My son tells me, "Now this is exactly where I want to be," and I agree. It seemed that the audience that was there was intimately involved in the competition, and I was getting a kick out of listening to them. They hooted and hollered and encouraged their favorite competitors. The women in front of us were making notes on the calves and plotting which ones they would choose to cut when it was their turn. A man behind us spoke in a southern drawl to his female companion about the herd, and which calves were better than others. We stayed there for quite a while, listening and learning.

After that, we meandered to the mutton bustin' competition. My son has been bugging me for years to sign him up for mutton busting, because he decided long ago that he wanted to be a bull rider when he grew up, and one of my husband's bull riding friends told us that is how he needed to get started. I am not entirely comfortable with either him doing it or the idea in general, so I kinda ignored his requests and hope he'd forget. Now he is too old and would have to do calf riding, and he was next to me today bragging loudly about "soon I'm gonna do calf riding, right Mom?"

Soon after this we left. He suggested it and I was never so glad to leave the rodeo grounds before. We wandered through the vendors on the way out, but honestly everything seemed so overpriced and nothing that we really needed or wanted. It was great eye candy, but window shopping is all I really do at the rodeo anyway. By the time we got home, I was wiped out and worthless for the rest of the day. I think this about killed the urge for me to want to go again any time soon. I just don't think it is like it used to be, and the commercialism and the sheer number of people there just zap the fun out of it for me. I'll see if my attitude is different next year, and as far as taking my youngest to see some farm animals, I think I'll stick to the local ag fairs for a few years. I can't find 'em here anyway!