From the ages of about 3 to 6, I was Garth Brooks’ biggest fan. I would run around the house singing “Shameless” (even though “Cuz I’m shameless” was the only line I knew) and pretend to rope cows. I was a cowboy from birth, but eventually grew out of it after a few years and became a city slicker. When I met my wife, however, I found out that it had always been her dream to marry a cowboy, so I resurrected what little of Bocephus’ spirit I had in me and played along. In fact, “our song” was and still is “Friends in Low Places” by Garth Brooks. I’m not entirely sure why, but we just started belting it in the car one night and it became a tradition.

So, in light of my of my rediscovered vaquero-hood, we went to the rodeo a few weeks ago in Pleasant Grove. It was a  lot of fun. The broncos were wild, the rodeo clown obnoxious and the people fascinating. I took plenty of photos of the riders, but it was the patrons that I found most entertaining. They had bronco and bull riding, little kids chasing down money-laden calves, fireworks, a live concert and even a motocross performance. After it was over, my wife and I got in the car and starting singing all that we could remember of “Rodeo” by Garth Brooks. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that much, so we sang “Friends in Low Places” instead. Naturally, the only two names I felt were fitting for this post were “And They Call the Thing Rodeo” and “Bulls, Blood, Dust and Mud.” The former title won out in the end.