Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys

This past weekend I met up with my Six-Button Cowgirls to attend the National Western Stock Show in Denver. A highlight was the pro rodeo, which both fascinated and offended me. I don't like the idea of chasing, roping, and wrestling animals to the ground for sport. The team roping event was hard to watch, and I decided to head to the concessions during the tie down roping event. Those poor, poor cows! (While any entertainment at the expense of animals is sad, I have to admit that mutton busting is kind of funny: four-year-old kids (the human kind) clinging for dear life to sprinting sheep. I guess not all parents coddle their kids too much these days!)

The bareback bronc riding, saddle bronc riding, and bull riding was scary, but the cowboys' athleticism and courage (or perhaps foolishness) put my fear of riding into perspective. Thankfully, I don't ride a violently bucking 2000-lb. animal whose sole job is to throw me off. Even before getting tossed off, the cowboys take quite a beating to the back and neck. And after landing unceremoniously on the ground, the cowboys must avoid being trampled. Indeed, each cowboy's introduction is something like, "Next up: Ace Smith riding Death Warrant. Ace has suffered five concussions and had his spleen removed last year when he was stomped by a bucking bull." I'm not exaggerating; many of the cowboys have had multiple concussions and severe-sounding injuries. I sure feel sorry for those cowboys' mamas.