Last week, my six-year-old nephew Oliver and I jumped on a plane for Dallas. My parents met us at the airport, carted us around Fort Worth for a few days, and showed us what life at the annual stock show is like.

While there, we . . .

cringed at the thought of getting tossed on our heads,

watched a cowboy work some calves,

wondered when in the heck ranch hands started using cell phones on the job,

learned what cutting horses do,

watched their beautiful dance in action,

decided we should buy one (a horse, not a cowboy. Well, now that I think about it . . . ),

discovered why milk cows are so boney,

stayed a safe distance away from pointy horns,

got bucked off at 8 seconds,

winced as cowboys pulled on cows’ tails and then got kicked in the face/chest/legs/any place ever,

determined Ollie was big enough for mutton bustin’ . . . next year,

kept my mom from taking down Wild Bill Hickok,

ahem, moving right along . . .

found the world’s largest honky tonk,

and decided we should probably go back again next year.

 

*And lest you not recognize the reference . . . *