Following a recent Veterans Museum political forum, candidates were anxious to rush off to the Sheriff’s Rodeo and hand out cards. Remembering what happened there to County Commissioner Tommy Raby two years ago, I warned them: “Don’t ride in the jackass race. You’ll get hurt. Tommy Raby was thrown and broke his arm.”

Animals have never liked me, either.

A turkey gobbler flogged me when I was 5-years old. He knocked me down with his wings, jumped on my back and stomped me. When I was age 15, my horse, Silver ran under a low-hanging peach tree limb and knocked me off, dislocating my ankle. I sold Silver for fifteen dollars.

“Ol’ Red”, our Rhode Island rooster sneaked up behind me and spurred me on the butt. Ol’ Red died in a hail of bullets a few minutes later and was eaten that night in a chicken stew.

A few years later, an 8-day old mule colt kicked me with both feet and nearly knocked me unconscious. Whether he was angry because I had bred his aristocratic and genteel Walking Horse mother to a $12.00-a-pop jackass, I don’t know. I sold the little juvenile delinquent shortly afterwards. I hope he ended up in a can of dog food.

Each year Sheriff Mike Blakely saddles Cowboy for me to ride in the Rodeo parade. And each year Cowboy bows up, hops around and tries to throw me. I think Mike whispers something nasty about me in his ear.

I can’t get any peace from animals, even when I’m sleeping.

So, after warning the candidates to stay off jackasses at the rodeo, I went home, ate warmed up spaghetti with lots of garlic and went to bed at 10 p.m. I was awakened around 4:30 a.m. by a noise at my back door. I grabbed my Colt .45 automatic and tiptoed to the door. If someone was trying to break into my house, he was going to be on the evening news. I peeked out and saw that it was Pat Goodin who had been to the rodeo. I let her inside. She was upset.

“Mike was almost killed by a bull!” She had witnessed the mishap and gave me a detailed report and said that she had been at the emergency room with Mike and Debbie for several hours. It was upsetting to hear about the near tragedy.

I went back to bed and eventually drifted off to sleep. The next thing I knew I was in a stable saddling Cowboy. Just as I walked around him to tighten the cinch, a yapping dog darted into the stable and nipped his back leg.

Cowboy kicked me with both feet.

“WHOOOAAAA-WHOOOOAAAAA YOU RASCAL!” I went sailing through the air. When I woke I was on the floor beside my bed. After that I was afraid to go back to sleep.

I’m not safe anywhere. I could have been killed by a darn horse in my own bed!

I had planned to attend the rodeo on Saturday night, but after being kicked out of bed while in the sanctity of my own home, I was afraid to go. With so many horses around I’m pretty sure I would have been bitten, kicked or pawed or, at the least, slipped down on a “road apple” and broke my leg.

Next year if you see me riding in a wagon in the Sheriff’s Rodeo parade, you’ll know why. You’ll recognize me easily. I’ll be the guy buckled up and wearing a crash helmet.