The Great Rodeo Trainers
My Brother Matt’s problems with goats began when he was just three years old. We raised nubians, and when one of the nannies gave birth, Matt seemed to enjoy chasing it around with a stick. Not actually beating it, mind you – just terrorizing it. We made him stop, but that goat had a longer memory than the we had.
About a year later, when Matthew was four and beginning to spend more time in the barn doing chores with the rest of us, he walked by that same goat, now fully grown and sporting a fully developed set of horns. Not realizing what was about to happen, I watched “Gertrude” as she watched Matthew approach. When he was right next to her, she reared straight up on her hind legs, where she poised ever so briefly – just long enough for Matt to register what was happening. Alas, not long enough for him to get out of the way. Matt found himself on the receiving end of the hardest head-butt I have ever seen, which drove him straight to the ground on his rear. Once my brothers and I ascertained that he was not out cold, we all expressed our deepest sympathy for his pain – by rolling on the ground and laughing hysterically. Psychiatrists might point out this episode as having something to do with the way Matthew is today, but hey, what do they know.
Moving forward in time two more years, Matt is only six, but I’m 18 and my friends and I consider ourselves rough, tough cowboys. We’ve ridden broncs in the local rodeos. We run riding stables where “city slickers” try to prove they can ride, but we like to show them what real riding is like. We crack bull whips in ways that would have put Indiana Jones to shame, except “Raiders of the Lost Ark” was still two years in the future. In short, we aren’t scared of anything or anyone – except my Mom. Naturally, Matthew looks up to us, and announces that he wants to become a rodeo star.
That weekend we had over a thousand bales of hay to put up, so I invited my best friend Tim over to do some trail riding. When he arrived early Saturday morning ready to ride, I explained to him that we just had a few bales of hay to pick up and stack in the barn first. It shouldn’t take too long, and then we can go riding. The next afternoon when we finished up, there was hay stacked in both side lofts of our old hay barn, and in the center on the floor was a stack that reached all the way to the ceiling. I said “Well, that didn’t take too long now, did it?” Tim, being the good humored sort that he is, refrained from beating the tar out of me just then – barely.
Instead of going riding right away, we decided to teach Matt how to become a rodeo star (as if we knew – it was all we could do to qualify). Given Matt’s tender age and small stature, we wisely opted not to try him on a full size horse with a bucking strap. Even the cows looked a little to large for him to start on. We simultaneously arrived at the ingenious idea to use a goat. Why not? They’re not too big, don’t kick hard, and we’d be right there to help if there was trouble! Matt agreed that it was a great idea, so we tied some binder twine loosely around Matilda’s neck, Matilda being our gentlest nanny. I held on to her while Tim lifted Matt onto her back and he got himself a good hold. Then he’d nod his head just like the real cowboys, we’d let go and away they went! Matilda would run and buck, and Matt would hold on for 3 or 4 seconds before falling off. All three of us would laugh like fools, then we’d catch Matilda and do it all again.
This went on for 30 minutes or so, and we were having a grand time. Then unfortunately Matt came off badly, and bumped his head hard enough to make him run into the house crying. Now my Mom claimed to be five foot two (I think she only made that in heels with her hair done up), but when she was mad she turned into 100 pounds of dynamite. Suddenly the two rough, tough cowboys remembered a patch of fencing in the back 40 that needed to be repaired. We also decided that we could engineer any fencing materials we would need out there on the spot, no need to hunt up pliers, wire, or anything like that first. We were heading out there, keeping a low profile, when we heard Matthew calling for us. Once we were sure it wasn’t a ruse to get us within shoe-throwing distance of my Mom (I once saw her take my brother Scott out with a sneaker at 40 yards), we cautiously made our way back to the barnyard.
Matthew was standing there wearing my Step-dad’s old motorcycle helmet. In what may well have been the first time a protective helmet was worn in a rodeo event, Matt announced he was ready to try one more time, and was going to go all out to stay on this time. Unbeknownst to us, Matilda had decided that enough was enough, and she was going to go all out, too. Just like before, I held on to the goat, while Tim positioned Matt on her back. Matt gave us the nod, we let go, and so began the most memorable rodeo ride we’ve ever seen. Matilda bucked. She ran. She twisted and spun. Matt immediately gave up any attempt to keep one hand free, and was just clinging for dear life. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Matilda’s neck and clamped his legs tightly at her sides. Eventually, she realized she was not going to throw this kid in the conventional manner, but she had one more trick up her sleeve and she headed for the barn. She bounded up that stack of hay like a mountain goat with wings. To his everlasting credit, Matt stayed right with her to the very top. Then he fell.
If you can imagine rats vainly trying to scramble up the deck of an up-ended, sinking ship, then you’ll have an idea of what Tim and I saw when Matt first started tumbling down that stack. We’d used a conveyor to get that stack of hay so high. It looked vaguely like a pyramid, which gave Mattilda the footing she needed to get up it, but also gave Matt plenty of opportunities to bounce on his way down, thereby slowing his descent somewhat. Once again Tim and I started thinking about how badly that fence repair needed to be done, but it turned out Matt was not hurt at all. A little shaken, a little scared, but laughing just the same.
Matthew later went on to become a bull rider and a bullfighter in the rodeo. Psychiatrists would no doubt blame me and Tim, but because Matt eventually gave up rodeo in favor of the relative safety and steadiness of construction work, again I say “what do they know?”
Originally published on Helium
