Be Ready to Throw that Hooey

     My wife and I both work an evening shift at our jobs and with her end time being a little later than mine, I get the opportunity to write and do other fun stuff like dishes and cleaning the cat box. I get home a few hours before she does and by the time of her arrival I am beginning to wind down with my feet up till I melt into the couch; upon which she shoos me off to the sleep sack. During the week we typically DVR the shows we like and watch them together when she gets home. Sometimes I have to watch them again because that melting thing happens and I miss some things. Last week started that time of the year when the networks, both national and cable, put their regular shows on hiatus during the holiday season. Our DVR didn't have much to do, and when we sat down to watch the boob tube at the end of the day, pickings were kind of slim. Anyone who works a 2^nd shift job knows that infomercials and multitudes of “why is this on” type of shows rule the airwaves as the night goes on. No thanks; I don’t need a dump cake cookbook, a sticky buddy, or a knife that can cut up a beer can, then slice a tomato.

     Last week we came across the National Finals Rodeo from Vegas and basically fell into it headfirst. We occasionally watch Professional Bull Riding, so it wasn't a big stretch to stop and check it out. After watching Bull Riding, which is basically the same group of guys trying to avoid getting tossed into to the air by a different angry bull every round; the rodeo was a nice change. I've never watched the rodeo on TV before; the last rodeo I went to was at the Big E in Springfield , Mass and  I was probably about 10 years old, so it’s been a while.

    We had a lot of fun watching this and started to DVR it after the 2nd night.  It was a kaleidoscope of bedazzled cowboy gear and colorful names; there were cowboys named Tuf, Turtle, and Timber; bulls with the monikers of Bushwacker and Train Wreck, plus a 22 year old horse called Sweetness in the roping event. The rounds went fairly quick, each cowboy only had one shot each day to make a score, so missing out on getting a score or putting up a bad one made it tough to make up for. The national finals last for 10 days and by the end of it almost all the cowboys walked with a limp, or were holding some body part that had been banged up along the way.   

     The riders in the bucking competitions, whether its broncs or bulls, proved over and over again that they are hard as nails and a bit nuts. The cowboys really don’t wear any padding, other than a Kevlar vest and what looks like a lacrosse helmet, and they take a hell of a beating. Even though they only have to ride for 8 seconds to get a score, it seems like forever watching that clock tick, while you’re rooting for them to get in a full ride.  Watching their heads snap back and forth, one arm waving in the air, using it to maintain their balance, while trying to keep their legs from flailing in 6 different directions makes for an intense 8 seconds, or less. While I was watching some of the guys get tossed into the air like a Saturday Morning cartoon character, I was hoping they didn't break something when they landed. A few of them did.

     One of the bronc riders was thrown in the air and landed smack on his head; he wasn't allowed to continue when they found he cracked a couple vertebrae. Another of the bronc riders broke the forearm on his free hand and kept riding. It was almost painful watching him limp back to the waiting area holding his injured arm after his each ride, I wondered at the degree of toughness or insanity it took to get back on a horse. To say these guys are single-minded is a serious understatement.  During another round of the bronc competition a rider got his hand caught in his saddle wrap as he was thrown off, so his shoulder did a “Right turn Clyde”, which made me cringe watching, as it obviously dislocated. He’s done right? Wrong, the next round he’s back on the horse, the arm he used for his saddle hand strapped to his side with a shoulder brace and out in to the arena he went for the full 8 seconds. Ouch.

     The horses in the roping competitions were not only gorgeous animals; they were really cool to watch. The expressions on their faces before each round were classic examples of, “I got my game face on.” They each stood at the start, ears up, eyes focused on the calf in the chute, a quiet confidence burning in their demeanor showed they knew what the job was and that they were ready to do it.  The cowboys had to be quick on their horses when the chute opened and the calf took off running. During the roping we had our first taste of rodeo commentary that had us looking at each other and wondering what the hell he just said.  “You have to be quick when you throw that hooey”. Umm...okay what’s a hooey?  Well, turns out that’s the short rope that calf ropers have to hold in their teeth because their lariat is in one hand and the reins are in the other. Where the name came from I have no idea, though I‘ll tell you those cowboys sure have speedy hands; they make that rope fly around the calf’s feet.

     The barrel racing was the ladies time in the spotlight. Fallon Taylor won the barrel racing, after coming back from a broken neck a few years back, on a horse she raised from a foal. The barrel races at around 14 seconds were the longest of any event and were a nice change of pace from the others.

     Each night the bull riding was saved as the last event in the show. The only familiar face we saw from the PBR was JW Harris, who is one of the top riders. We watched him get thrown, then stomped on and kicked; that was tough to watch. He went and rode the next day with stitches in his head and a notable creakiness to his every move; it didn't go well. 

    Don Hay, an 8 time PBR champ, did the color commentary for the bull riding and he had us in stitches every night.  We had to rewind to hear these classics again. “You know it’s kind of like when your car is coming out of the garage and you have to be invisible and it’s hard to do.” I think this was in reference to one of the bull fighters, formerly known as rodeo clowns, though I can’t say that with any certainty. The other I still can’t make any sense out of.  “It’s like trying to ride around a square box and come out smooth.”  Um, WHAT?  The comments rivaled Cosell, Gifford and Meredith at their goofiest on Monday Night Football years ago. One thing that was very apparent was Don’s love for and knowledge of bull riding, though he often left us wondering what the hell he was talking about.

     Even though I live in the West I don’t see a lot of cowboys. You really have to get out of town; way out where the cactus outnumber the cars and you won’t see someone buzzing by you on a rice rocket wearing a tank top and flip flops, to see some real cowboys. You may see a few here or there in town, and since this city is like Southern California East without the implants, they are easily recognizable.  I was glad I took the time to indulge in something a little out of the norm for me; it was well worth the time invested. I think I could see the two of us heading to a rodeo in the future.  

   One final note I thought I would add. A rodeo is essentially a gathering of cowboys.  The street in L.A. pronounced Roh-DAY-Oh was the name given to the area by some of the first Europeans to settle there. They called it ”El Rodeo de los Aguas”, the Gathering of the Waters, because the area at that time had water aplenty.  No matter how you pronounce it, they are both a gathering of good things. 

     

Off to the Vet

      We took our cats to the vet for their annual checkup and vaccinations. We had to go on Saturday, which made for a long wait. Everyone else that works had to be there too. We saw one of those tear at your heart moments when a guy come in to pick up his dog's ashes in a little wooden box. Pets are part of the family after all and it was tough to see.  Our two are usually not easy to get in the pet carriers before we go. This time when we brought the carriers into the living room their natural curiosity worked to our advantage and we were able to scoop them up and get them inside without a struggle. Of course we were regaled with sounds of discontent due to their incarceration, first with outrage, then fear to finally grudging resignation. When we got to the vets we hardly heard a peep. I’d imagine their experience was like the sensory overload akin to my first and only time in Vegas, occurrences which I know neither of us is in a hurry to repeat.  We had to wait a while for the vet once we got into the exam room.

 

                                              Oh crap , you can see us hiding in here.

                                             

                                           You keep watch over there, I'll handle this direction.
                                         

     We heard the vet working on a cat in another room. It sounded just like he was hollering, "NO!"

                                                      What are they doing to that guy?

     Finally the vet showed up to do exams, which really didn't take all that long.

                                                If we ignore you will you go away?
                                        

    
     They both got a clean bill of health other than some tartar on teeth and news that our two chowhounds are a little overweight. They made themselves scarce for a couple of days sleeping in dark corners while the aftereffects of their shots wore off then it was back to business as usual.

    

Four Legged Kids

 

                I've had my share of four legged kids over the years. I’ve had everything from dogs and cats to gerbils, rabbits, guinea pigs, hamsters, also fish and birds. Some of them were great pets others not so much. I won't ever have another fish tank. I gave my last one to someone I didn't like just to get rid of it. I realized how much noise it added to the house after it was gone. I had to turn the TV up loud all the time just to hear it. I thought I was going deaf. I didn't realize how much background noise it added to the house, the hum from the filter didn't seem that loud when I stood next to it. The first time I turned the TV on after the tank was gone I wondered why the hell it was so loud, really loud. It was akin to that day you're running errands jamming out to your car stereo. You shut the car off at the end of that great song you've heard a million times, but you just had to listen all the way to the end with the volume cranked. Later you come out of the store, start the car and blow out your ears because the volume is still maxed out. I should have known it wasn't a great idea for me when I got the tank because our cat never paid it much attention, though I think she was more afraid of the noise the filter made. No more fish for me unless its beer battered with fries and slaw.

                The first dog I ever acquired was mainly due to my inability to say no convincingly enough to a cutie with big tits. A few of my running buddies and I were partying at her house one night. She had a litter of puppies she was trying to get rid of and apparently I was drunk enough to send home with one. The next morning my seriously hung-over ass rolled over on to something wet as I was greeted with the smell of puppy breath and a little wet tongue all over my face. I realized later that the wet stuff I rolled in was puppy piss. Good Morning you are now a dog owner! That was the summer I spent in training as a motivational speaker living in a van down by the river, or the parking lot behind the grocery store, or the little rest area on a back road in the sticks, or … You get the picture. I had no business trying to care for a dog when I couldn't my own stuff in one sock let alone give a dog what he needed.  He was a cute little ball of fur that was part German Shepherd. I named him Friday because I got him on a Friday. Now that’s stoner originality at its finest for sure. I think I still have a couple of pictures of him around in a box under the bed. Doesn't everybody keep old pictures there? I finally realized he deserved better than me for an owner when I caught him chewing on my tire iron to exercise his little puppy teeth and knew I he would be much better off with someone that had more sense than I did. I found him a good home with a fireman I knew a couple days later and went back to living here and there in my van the rest of that perpetually foggy summer.

                I’ve probably had more cats than any other pet. I’ve had hunters that left me proof of their skill by the back door, a couple that wanted you to play fetch with them, one that bit your leg just hard enough to get your attention, another that begged for peanut butter whenever you opened the jar and a couple that could carry on a conversation with full sentences in cat language. To me cats are pretty low maintenance, though I know others would say no. Everyone has their own idea of what low maintenance is.

                Now I have a new critter experience to add to the list. For the past month my wife and I have been babysitting a pair of chinchillas. We were asked to help out a friend that needed some time to get her new apartment in shape before bringing the little guys home. I knew a girl way back in elementary school that talked about the chinchillas she had but I had never seen one before except in pictures. They are just balls of fluff, very fluffy fluff and incredibly soft. They weigh almost nothing their size is all from hair. Occasionally we let them out of their cage in the office to give them more room to run around and play. If you sat on the floor one would jump up and sit on your leg and you barely felt it. A bag of cotton balls weighs more. They are rather social after dark, though in the daytime not so much except when it was treat time. Their diet consists mostly of hay, though they did get a morning treat of a mini shredded wheat square each. At night they each got one raisin and man did they know when it was time for raisins. Little twitching noses would push through the bars in the cage and we’d get scolded in chinchilla if we weren’t fast enough with the raisins. They both made those little treats go all gone really quickly. They take baths in dust. There is a cylinder type thing in the cage that you fill with this special dust and they roll around in it. When they come out they look like they raided a flour sack. If chinchilla shit could be made into shotgun pellets you would wear your arm out pressing shells. They are without a doubt the shittingest critters I’ve ever been around. If turd size was more proportional to the amount we would have been in trouble. Chinchillas are surely sweet little animals and it sucks to think that in parts of the world they are raised just for the pelts. They have since gone home and though we are glad to have that corner of the office back it was a rather interesting experience having those two around for a few weeks. I think our cats miss the kitty TV entertainment value they offered.

               

My Dogs Meow

      I have dogs that meow, really. Well they are actually cats but they act more like the dogs I've owned. Both of them are almost always under foot requesting attention of some kind. I’m accustomed to dogs being almost constantly underfoot requesting pets, pats and acknowledgement, but not cats. imagine having two short furry doting moms follow you around the house whenever you go after getting up to do something and all the while you're regaled with a steady stream of kitty conversation. They are the most talkative cats I have ever had. Both of them have a rather extensive vocabulary of questions, rebukes and demands for food and other requests, often in stereo.

      After several years of not having a dog or a cat I have a pair of litter-mate sister Tabbies. They were hard to tell apart when we first got them leading to numerous conversations that started with, “Which one just did that”? It took some time for us to be able to tell them apart at a glance.

                            Top - Water Cat Bottom - Grumpy Girl

        As kittens they lived in shelters and foster homes after being abandoned in an apartment. My wife’s importunity shattered my resistance to getting another cat. So of course we ended up with two! She convinced me we needed to rescue them from a return to that fate again. After hearing their story repeatedly I was putty in her hands. My wife worked with the couple that owned them and they needed to find the pair a new home because their new apartment didn’t allow pets, though they were hoping to keep them together if possible. I knew after hearing their story they would require some work and patience, though my reservations were met by assurances to the contrary. It hasn’t really been all the difficult other than being woken up by being walked on or to the sound of a toy being thrown around in the middle of the night.

The first couple of days we knew they would be skittish and just set out food and water and sat back and observed. They did the same to us. They each camped at opposite ends of the living room for a while before they decided to explore. Little by little they seemed to relax, though it took time before they stopped hopping away when we tried to pet them. And even now after 4 years they still dance away when if we move to fast whenever going in for the pets. Miss Grumpy Girl still does that, though it seems more like a game with her now and they have both figured out that getting pets is a good thing.

After we had them a few weeks I started to pick them up briefly. Of course they struggled to get way and I’d put them down immediately. I kept at it and left them to define the terms of that situation. Eventually they both got to a point where they now realize it’s a good thing and ask for it their own special way. They each demand their own one-on-one with each of us every day.

The shy one we dubbed Grumpy Cat, due to her perpetual scowl is surprisingly the one most likely to ask to cuddle. She also never really got rid of her kitten voice either. It's odd hearing such a soft voice coming from a cat her size. Water cat has a good sized handful of various intonations to let you know you need to pay attention here. 


They are different as night and day. Grumpy Girl seems to only prefer toys that are designed so we have play together. Water Cat will play with anything she finds and can amuse herself continuously it seems. Her tail can be a great source of amusement for her and us though her sister will watch while crouching and shoot her a disgusted look as if she's thinking, "nothing like furthering the dopey cat stereotype sis?" Water Cat will also race you to the bathroom and jump to the vanity expecting the faucet to be turned on a trickle for a drink. We finally had to put a stop to that when every time we headed in that direction she'd hustle to the vanity and scream for us to turn on the water. 

It has been great having them here and I expect them to be around for a good long while. They have added more laughter into a house that already had its fair share. They are the little door greeters when we each get home from work at night. They are masters at finding missing hair-ties, though I'm sure they are responsible for the missing part.. Time to go now my presence is being requested at the bathroom sink.