Puppy Mills

* Hundreds of thousands of puppies are raised each year in commercial kennels.

 

* Puppy mills are distinguished by their inhumane conditions and the constant breeding of unhealthy and genetically defective dogs solely for profit.

 

* Very often the dogs in puppymills are covered with matted, filthy hair, their teeth are rotting and their eyes have ulcers. We have seen many dogs whose jaws have rotted because of tooth decay.

 

* The dogs are kept in small wire cages for their entire lives. They are almost never allowed out. They never touch solid ground or grass to run and play.

 

* Many of the dogs are injured in fights that occur in the cramped cages from which there is no escape.

 

*  Many dogs lose feet and legs when they are caught in the wire floors of the cages and cut

off as the dog struggles to free themselves.

http://www.prisonersofgreed.org/Commercial-kennel-facts.html

 

Continued

While the boys did their events, I would sit outside of the fence and play in the dirt with all of the little boys. I would have loved to be out in the arena like the boys. They were my idols. After begging and pleading with my dad rodeo after rodeo he finally decided to let me ride a sheep. Needless to say, that never happened again. I could talk the talk but I could not walk the walk. I got in the shoot and the minute they opened the gate and the sheep took off running, I hit the ground. I can remember my dad having to pick me up off the ground as I laid there and cried.

When I was six I went on a horse ride with my dad. Since I wasn’t the best rider, dad would always put me on the best trained, most mellow horse, which was Paint. That day Paint decided to take me on a little ride. He blow up and took off, I was terrified. I let go of the reins and fell off. I told my dad that my arm was broke. Of course I was crying. This was the first time I heard the famous quote. “Cowgirl up.” To this day I still hear that. When my mom got home from work we went to the emergency room. I found out my arm was broke. Me being the little shit that I was, the minute I saw my dad I said “I told you it was broke!” He laughed it off and we headed back home. From that day on I was always nervous to get on horses. I loved them but they still scared me.

As I grew older and started to think for myself and like different things, I started to become interested in different things. Softball became my favorite pastime. I loved it so much I decided that I wanted to play in college.

Some people may think that my dad telling me to “Cowgirl Up” is a bit harsh. That is just the way my dad is. He shows that he cares in different ways. From the time I was little until now he has taught me no matter how hard things get, don’t give up. And when life doesn’t go the way you want it to, suck it up and do something about it. Don’t dwell over the bad things in life. Rodeos were a major aspect in my life. It helped make me the person I am today. It taught me life lessons that I still live by. Like if you fall off a horse, get back on. Don’t let that horse beat you. That mentality carried over to softball too. If someone hits a homerun off of me, I don’t give up I strike the next person out. The things that you learn about life when you are little can carry over to when you become an adult and have to deal with tough situations. Everyday a new challenge will arise, now I face that challenge without a doubt that I can overcome it and succeed.

How I Got To Be Me Continued

There’s a hundred years of history, and a hundred before that, all gathered in the thinking going on beneath his hat. The cold flame burns within him, till his skin is cold as ice. The dues he paid to get here are worth every sacrifice. All the miles spent sleepy driving. All the money down the drain. All the if I’s, and the nearly’s. All the bandages of the pain. All the female tears left dry. And all the fever and the fight are just a small down payment, on the ride he makes tonight. Its guts and love and glory, one mortals chance at fame. His legacy is rodeo, and Cowboy is his name. (Avildsen, 1994)

            When I was a young child we spent every weekend traveling to rodeos. Pulling in the gates pulling the trailer behind, we passed truck and trailer after truck and trailer, cowboy after cowboy. My dad, tall, tough, hardheaded and cowboy down to the core, my brother Jessie, tough, stubborn with a don’t mess with me attitude, and I would bail out of the truck. While my dad would get the horses out, my brother would put all of his gear on, spurs, chaps, the works. Dad would start saddling up the horses and getting them ready for his and Jessie’s events. While I stood next to the trailer and took it all in, I see cowboys and cowgirls with their horses. I can hear their spurs jingle as they walk. The reflection of the sun off their big belt buckles is blinding. The smell of horse manure in the spring air is almost overbearing. It was nothing new, it was the same weekend after weekend. This was my life, I knew no different and quite frankly, I didn’t want to know any different. I was raised a cowgirl.  

Jessie climbs up on our horse Paint and we head over to get Jess and dad entered and get their numbers. I looked up to Jessie and my dad. I loved horses and rodeos, but I never learned how to ride like they did. He was flawless and fearless. He was five years old and could stay on a horse no problem. He was next to run the barrels. As the contestant before him came out and Jess entered. He took off running Paint around all three barrels, not tipping any over. He may not have had the best time, but he was only five. He competed with people with a lot of experience and still showed some of them up. His next event was sheep riding. This was Jessie’s thing. What he was extremely good at. There was no way he was falling off that sheep until the eight seconds was over. Jessie placed first in the sheep riding which was no surprise to me. Dad couldn’t have been more proud.

How I Got To Be Me