About the Rodeo

I’d never even conceived of attending a rodeo before it was suggested to me last Friday that it might be a good way to spend the evening. I jumped at the idea because, I mean, who doesn’t want to take a spur(hah!)-of-the-moment trip to the rodeo when they have no alternate plans for the night? Away we went, sure that some kind of antics would ensue, but completely unsure of what, exactly, we were getting ourselves in to.

The affair, admittedly, should have been a much drunker one. There was a long drive though, what I'm sure was overpriced beer at the venue, and a lack of foresight on the bringing of flasks, which meant sobriety reigned king for once. At a rodeo of this caliber, the cowboys alone aren’t gonna cut it in terms of keeping my attention. My only previous experience being teevee viewership of similar affairs, I was a bit disappointed to see the broncos buck a little less, the calf ropers rarely manage a viable run, and piggy back couples barrel racing that was somehow more entertaining than the real thing (but come on! that second couple bit it! he just let her fall flat on her face!).

But there was still much to keep me entertained with, not the least of which was the crowd, comprised largely of drunken VMI students and less drunken rural central Virginians. As we neared the halfway point of the night, however, we were graced with what, at the time, seemed to be the most uniquely entertaining event some rodeo organizer on drugs had ever dreamed up.

It started with a new Dodge (not Ford! No, never Ford! The rodeo taught me that, apparently, Ford is bad. Did everyone else know this?) truck taking a lap around the ring. Lights flashing, music pumping--I really wanted to….well nothing. Not buy a new car, which, I guess? was the point? maybe?

Then these goats entered the ring. A herd of them. Upon further observation they may have actually been rams to go along with the Dodge theme, but really, they kinda just looked like goats. So they’re running around a bit, waiting for, oh, what?….oh the sheep dogs to enter. The goats will be herded by these sheep dogs. But what’s that on top of the sheep dog? Something is riding the sheep dog? It looked like a stuffed animal to me. A little stuffed sheep dog jockey was affixed to the back of each of the four or so canines.

But wait, that stuffed jockey just scratched it’s nose! THAT’S A FUCKING MONKEY!

So yes. The show was comprised of monkeys, in costume, no less, riding dogs around and herding goats. Ohmyfuckinggod. What is that? Why is that? How is that?

My photographic evidence documents (blurrily) the affair. Unfortunately, I did not manage to actually capture the “OhmygodIjustwatchedacowboymonkeyrideadog!” face that I know I, for one, certainly had plastered on my mug for the 5 or so minutes this debacle lasted.

If I'd had a better camera, or if those monekys hadn't been such darn good (and fast!) cowboys, I would've gotten a better picture and it would've looked something like this

The story could've ended there, and, indeed, I thought it had. But it had become my "story of the weekend," you know the one you tell every time someone asked you what you did or how your weekend was.

As I recounted the tale to Sam on Saturday night he nodded. "Ahh, the monkeys riding dogs. Always a classic." What? Who? Other people know about this?

The icing on the cake came this morning though. My co-worker asked me to tell him a funny story and I started in on the monkey tip. "Oh, right. I did a painting of that you know? It's somewhere here in my house. You've seen it I think." No, Danny. I haven't seen it. I definitely would not forget seeing an artist's interpretation of this phenomenon.

I definitely won't forget anything I have learned thus far, or stand to learn in the future, about this phenomenon.