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 . . .
watched a cowboy work some calves,
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 . . . *