Rodeo Clowns

It was a hot wet heat. The only kind of heat you can find in the Midwest August summer. Being on the West Farm was always my favorite place and for me, it was home. I was lucky that Gramps and Gram let me stay here for the summer while I tried to sort out my next move.

Leaving the 70's wallpaper kitchen and opening up the backdoor let the full force of that humidity hit me in the face. I loved it. I stepped down the step and on the earth that my family had worked hard to cultivate and grow. It was one of those golden late summer days, where the grass and tall reeds have all turned gold from the summer sun bleaching.

This was my favorite time of day, early morning when the cows are waking up from their slumber and the dew is still on the ground. I walked into the feeding barn and that's when I saw him.

The only Black Angus amongst a sea of Hereford reds, passing the gate to his pen. The only animal on the farm in a pen in fact. Fresh from the Rodeo and more wild in his eye than I had ever seen. He had thrown off more than fifteen riders during his week at the fair rodeo. A new record for our small county, earning himself quite the reputation.

Gramps never had the intention of raising wild bulls and surely never intended on purchasing one but he had said there was just something about Lucky he just couldn't dismiss. I think it was the mystery of it all that lured him in, just like it did me.

Extra careful as to not surprise him, I made my way over to the pen. I have no idea what I was thinking. This huge bull against my one hundred seventeen pound frame? I think anyone could bet those odds. But I just couldn't help myself. I felt like I was being called to him.

I knew better than to come from the back and I wasn't going to face him head-on. So I took the angled side approach. The sun hit his back and with the dust floating around him he looked glorious. The whole scene was like some movie scene where the girl and the bull find this common understanding and become friends. I was only 50 feet away now, maybe I could just put my hand over the bar, and then maybe he would...

Nope. No sooner did I stretch out my hand and that bull came snorting and huffing. I swear there was a red glow in his eyes. I retracted that hand and very quickly double the distance between us. Even in his full-blown rage he was stunning. Just sheer force to be recokoned with and so unforgiving about it.

"I don't think I have seen you move that fast since you were 7 years old and swearing you heard a monster under the bed!"

Gramps was always talking about that ONE time. Walking towards me in his stained white t shirt that was tucked in to his light blue Levi's so tight that his pot belly looked more like a balloon about to pop with the sun gleaming on him and the dirt driveway crunching beneath his feet. As he got inside the shade of the feeding barn he took off his well-worn John Deere hat and swiped at the sweat that was pooling on the top of his bald head.

"He is something, isn't he?", Gramps said replacing his hat. "Not real sure what I am gonna do with this mammoth yet but I just couldn't send him off to the slaughter house after such a victory."

Gramps had never shown me any hint of having a soft spot so this took me well by surprise.

"I think you're going to have your hands full with this one Gramps. Will he ever be able to go out to pasture with the herd? Or is he going to have to stay apart for the rest of his time?"

The thought hit me in the heart a little. This massive, beautiful creature living in isolation his whole life with out being able to roam the meadow and woods we had on the property. Gramps looked down and the charming smile left his face.

"I like to think so. This bull isn't an old man. He is still just a young man, thinking he is on top of the world and untouchable." With his eyes turnig to me, "He still has the time to find what it means to actually live life."

The look on his face made me stop in my tracks. Gramps was never the heart to heart type, a good joke and a laugh sure, but never a serious conversation.

"Your mom dropped this off at the house a little bit ago." He handed me an unopened envelope with a California postmark. It was from the acting agency I had sent my headshots to. We had been in communication for weeks about setting up a few audtions.

"Oh. Thanks," I said as I took the envelope. This envelope was the sole proprieter of the issues I had been having. My folks and I did not agree on what my next step after college would be. I wanted to take on Hollywood and leave my mark, my legacy. My parents wanted me to start the career that they had paid dearly for to help me pursue my "dreams".

"Gramps, you know I won't be out there forever. Just a year or two. Long enough to land a great role and really make a name for myself. Then I will be right back here on the farm." I had always wanted to be a livestock vet but while at school several modeling/acting agencies had pursued me. Why not? I am in my prime and I wasn't ugly!

"You say that but I want you to think about this bull before you make any desicions. This guy here is just like you. Young, stubborn, eager to make his mark on the world around him. Ready to push away anyone and anything in an attempt to show his dominance. But look at the world he is missing.." Gramps was pointing toward the golden pasture that was rippling in the breeze, framed by the woods. My woods.

"Don't be so beguiled by the fancy lights of the rodeo that you get blinded. And those rodeo clowns never have the best interest of the bull in mind you know. It's their job to rile them up, make them into what THEY need them to be. At the end of the show it's not the clowns who take the bull home and heal it's wounds."

Wow. I had no idea my Gramps- the tough talking, tractor driving, chewing tabacco stained teeth could pull off such an anology. To him, those agencies were clowns. Trying to make promises they couldn't keep and get results they wanted.

In that moment on the farm with Gramps in the fading light of the morning, I decided to throw that enveloped-unopened- in the trash the moment I got inside.

For years to come that analogy of clowns would cross my mind as I navigated my life. Those same years found our bull, Lucky out in the pasture grazing with the other cows. He even became the herd softie! Playing with the calves and always leading the charge into the stalls for the night.

When Gramps passed away last year we were cleaning out his dresser and there tucked in the back corner of his jean drawer was a small folded piece of paper. On that paper were several drafts of the Rodeo Clown story. Gram told me how the night before our conversation in the barn, my Gramps sat at the dining room table writing and rewriting this wisdom so that he could pass it on to me in the perfect way. When my Gram told him to go to bed , that whatever he had would be fine. He looked up and told her, "Fine isn't good enough for my girl."

I have that paper framed and in the lobby of my veteranry clinic.