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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1506856-Rodeo-Daze
Rated: 13+ · Essay · Comedy · #1506856
Monkey riding dogs and bronc busting at the Silver Spurs Arena
My Fellow Small Town Americans,

There were monkeys riding dogs. I don’t know how else to say it, but there were real monkeys riding real dogs.

I remarked to my youngest son, “This is wrong on so many levels and yet . . . and yet, I cannot tear my eyes away.”

He nodded in agreement. His mouth gaped open. His eyes glazed over and unblinking as he watched the Boarder Collies streak around the Silver Spurs Arena with small shrieking monkeys clinging to their backs. They wear wearing cowboy chaps and ten gallon hats. The monkeys not the dogs. The dogs wear wearing monkeys.

Up north a bit, they have endangered manatees (Sea Cows) and Blue Springs. Cape Kennedy has men and women blasting into space via the space shuttle. Every year in Tampa pirates invade. Here in Osceola county we have the Silver Spurs Rodeo—with dog riding monkeys, and we couldn’t be prouder.

At one point during the rodeo, as I watched massive bulls convulsing around the arena trying to escape whatever was wrapped around their genitals, I turned to my husband and said, “This has got to be the most politically incorrect show left on earth.” I paused to watch the bull attempt to stomp a clown to death. “I find it all oddly refreshing.”

Let’s not forget the fair that goes along with the rodeo. The 4-H exhibits are a big favorite of mine. The chickens, this year, were spectacular. There were chickens the size and shape of monkeys and one breed of chicken that the entire family dubbed the YaYa chicken (that’s me, the YaYa.) It’s feathers were red and stuck out in all directions. (For those of you who have never braved my website, my hair is the color red, most of the time, and sticks out in all directions like feathers.) What a clever, clever family.

The truth of it is, that our entire family has fallen in love with Osceola county and the city of Saint Cloud in particular. It just may be the last place on the planet where monkeys riding dogs is considered a fine half-time show. I know we talked about it for days and days. Some of the questions we’d like answered include:

“Do you think those monkeys were drunk?”

“Did anyone else think those monkeys were stuffed?”

“I thought they were stuffed until the dogs stopped and I saw the monkeys screeching. Do you think they were screeching for joy?”

“Is that even legal?”

“Is that a natural behavior do you think? Do monkeys sit in trees waiting for dogs to run by so they can ride them?”

“Those dog riding monkeys were way better than the performing pigs from last year. Don’t you think?”

Our youngest daughter, Maren, who is about to graduate from Stetson University with a political science degree and a paralegal certificate—which means that she’s smart and she can get a job—is so enamored with the city of Saint Cloud that she wants to be its mayor. Her campaign slogan will be, “If you want monkeys riding dogs, you got it!”

Oh, and she’s very excited about the fact that as mayor she would have the power to call up the Saint Cloud militia. We hesitated to tell her that “the militia” might consist of a couple of guys from the Silver Dollar Saloon, out on 192, and that clown from the rodeo.

When we asked what she would be needing the town militia for she said, “To fight the city of Kissimmee, of course.” It’s like she’s mayor already.

I just hope that as mayor she addresses carnival safety issues, because I, personally, was forced by my grandchildren to get on a “kiddie” roller coaster at the fair that I know was held together with twists ties from a bread wrapper and the rank smell of creosote.

When Heather, Maren, and Maria (our daughters and their friend) rode Willie the Mechanical Bull at the fair, I’m fairly certain the “operator” flipped a switch that read: Speed—Erotic. Public decency laws were involved, I have no doubt.

We moved to Saint Cloud, Florida so that we could have chickens and burn stuff in our backyard. The day they tell me that I can’t burn stuff, or that the chickens have to go, is the day that I move to Holopaw where I intend to join the militia.

Have fun at a small town rodeo near you.

Linda (Cowgirl Up) Zern
© Copyright 2008 L.L. Zern (zippityzern at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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