One silly and rainy day playing tent fort, Wendy decided to make up for her two brothers a story based on what little she knew about rodeos and the unit they studied on Argentina in school. Or she considers that maybe this dog rodeo really exists and no one has yet discovered it before she made it up that late afternoon.
There are yaps and barks as the rodeo begins. Yes, there are racing barrels and saddling up for bulldog riding, just as you’d expect. But there’s also the competition to see who can shake the most and who can keep from quivering at all.
Everyone cheers when the small dogs take off running, circling the arena at top speed. There are lariats and bolas—rocks wrapped up in leather that fortunately just swing around without hitting anyone—and more than a few contestants in felt hats and ponchos in addition to those in cowboy hats and wearing tiny vests.
Those in the stands feast on chili pie and barbecue beef jerky and chimichuri sauce. There are the skinny and long-legged dogs. White, brown and black dogs. “Yippee-ki-yay!” and “yippee-ki-yo!” they all bark.
When awards are given, just about every dog gets one, from thin to roly poly, because in this group of dogs, they all perform very well in one event or another—either third, second, or first place. In the final procession, behind the Mexican hairless who leads them, they all wear their ribbons. Before too long, the dog behind chases the ribbon of the one in front and catches it in its teeth until they all end the night tumbling into one yapping pile of Chihuahua cowboys. Get along, little doggies. Get along.