IT'S A BARNUM & BAILEY WORLD

HUR-RAY, HUR-RAY, STEP RIGHT UP...

Stockshow Time in Cowtown!

I love the FAT Stockshow, as it used to be called before we all got so calorie/artery conscious. So who the hell wants to look at an anorexic Elsie? As I saunter the various livestock barns, I try not to think of that T-bone steak or that plateful of bacon I had last week. Really, I am not a big meat eater, but not a vegan either. The different breeds of cattle are gorgeous, with their big soulful brown eyes and the long curly eyelashes. A glossy black angus contrasts beautifully beside the red ringlets on the Herefords with their silvery white faces. Now, for granted, these bovine are the cream of the crop and are bathed and groomed daily more than a pet prized poodle at the Westminister. My heart always goes out to the young man or woman whose sweet baby gets picked as the Grand Champion. Yes, the youngsters will go on to college and do great things with the riches won, but their true four-legged friend that claimed the Blue Ribbon for their master usually doesn't have such a great future to look forward to. Such is life.

The Stockshow rodeo is not to be missed, and the midway would make Barnum and Bailey proud. There's a sucker born every minute. I remember as a teenager, climbing onto the carnival rides that were guaranteed to make you revisit that deep-fried corny dog slathered in hot mustard, the big fluff of pink cotton candy, and the roasted-in-the-husk, corn-on-the-cob dripping with lime-salted butter you ate about an hour ago. To quote Templeton, the Rat in Charlotte's Web, "Life is a smorgasbord, orgasbord!" Walk around in my red Justin Roper boots, and my mom's old fawn-colored suede fringed coat ( a relic of the 50's, but oh so cool!), trying to catch the eye of all the cute cowboys from distant places like Montana, Utah or Nevada. But we were city-slicker gals as far as these young reata twirlers were concerned. They had the real thing on their boots.

Occasionally, when roaming the poultry, swine or cattle barns, I am reminded by my companions how fortunate I am not to have a sense of smell anymore. But, I would gladly suffer the mild stench of the livestock if I could also inhale deeply of all the wonderful aromas I remember of the stockshow. Can't you just smell the slightly burned sugar tinge on the air from a cotton candy stand, the sweet fruity waft of the candied apples, the salty/buttery taste on your tongue and palate from freshly popped corn, the heavy, heavenly scent of vanilla from the funnel cakes, or the tantalizing mixture of animal and leather and aftershave on the air as a rugged and dashing Caballero comes riding by on his way to the arena?

Come on in folks, Hur-ray, Hur-ray...