They call him "Ohio"

There he was at the opening of the “Old Time Saloon”. He was so debonair. These are words not usually associated with a cowboy I know, but he wouldn’t know the difference by looking at him. He wore a Stetson hat, black with a diamondback snake as a hatband. His western shirt was black overall with horses and riders running across the prairie. The background colors were dark purple, white, and different shades of blue.

His boots were suede with the fancy stitching on the toes and heel. His belt buckle was as big as the state of Ohio, probably were he came from. He wore Wrangler jeans that were also black. The clasp on his string tie was of a cowboy riding a bucking bronco. He was definitely an urban cowboy except for two things; he had no spurs on his boots and the fact that he forgot to zip up his pants.

He walked up the half louvered doors, swung them open, and announced his arrival with the loudest belch you have ever heard. Everyone looked his way, eyed him up and then began to laugh. I personally think they were laughing at the little cows on his underwear, but you never know at country and western bars.

Our urban cowboy looked around the bar. He saw the large mahogany bar and all of the bottles of whiskey, rum, and mixers. In the middle of the wall behind the bar there was a mirror. Well this mirror just happened to be reflecting the most beautiful woman that our cowboy had ever saw. He licked his lips and walked up the bar, next to the curvaceous woman, and said, “Me and the woman here will have a beer.”

Of course “Ohio”, I mean let’s be fair to the state of Texas because this man isn’t a cowboy. Ok, “Ohio” doesn’t realize that she is talking to another “John” and she is trying to get this guy to commit for an evening with her.

“Excuse me,” said this man on the left side of the beauty, “but you’ll need to buy a beer for someone else. She is mine tonight.”

“Oh, really,” she says, “then why do I get the feeling that this barstool is the closest I’ll get to have something to wrap my legs around?

“Tell you what cowboys, I’ll give you a night with me and this here concert ticket if one of you can ride that bull over there.”

“Ma’am, how does one go about riding a uhm...bull?”

“Easy. Chuck, we got a live one. Fire up the “bull”!”

There is heard cheers, jeers and laughter as “Ohio” pulls his Stetson down over his ears, pulls his boots up over his calves, and tightens his belt.

“Now,” says the lovely woman in red, “you put this hand over your head, this one holds on to this rope, and if you zip up your pants you cows won’t get out of the barn.”

For a brief second, “Ohio's” cheeks were flushed red as he turned around, twisted and contorted, and zipped his barn door closed. Then he turned back around, swallowed hard and mounted the mechanical “bull”, backwards.

Laughter once again filled the country bar. The only one not laughing was the lady in the red dress. She graciously turned him around and got him prepared to ride the machine.

“Chuck, give him some warm ups before you give him the real ride of his life.”

The black leather covering the springs, gears and wires started to twist and turn, lift and lower, and start and stop. He looked as comfortable on that machine as the motorist with his horn stuck behind a group of Hell’s Angels. The bull stopped for a couple of seconds and “Ohio” relaxed his grip on the rope thinking his ride was over and he rode his first bull. He started to lean towards the floor when the bull leaped back into action.

It was spinning faster, it was up and then down quicker, it was spinning at a breakneck speed. His hand went one way. His legs went the other. His hat fell off and his belt buckle was hitting his chin. He was holding on for dear life. His body was thrashing around like a Raggedy Andy doll in a washing machine.

The ride only lasted the required eight seconds but “Ohio” still thinks he held onto that thin rope for at least an hour. He got off of the machine, wobbling, sore, stiff and thirsty. The lady in red meets him just off the mat and gives him a kiss on the cheek and a mug of cold beer. “Ohio” was so overcome from excitement that he fainted. He was out cold.

* * * * *

When he awoke his wife looked at him. “I’m not even going to ask why you were thrashing around like that in your sleep. I thought for a moment that you had lost your mind when you kept hollering, ’Come on lil’ doggies’”

He sheepishly says, “Sorry, honey”