The Favoured, The Fair and Ms. Vérité Claire

5 Full Of Beans (part 2)

Beryl apologized for having to sit with the Hill O' Beans people in their box seat. Julia, Vérité and Bernard were so high up in the nosebleeds that noses would have bled up. Bernard, nursing severely chaffed inner thighs and a suspiciously sore back, winced as he followed them into the stands and when he finally took his seat, as gingerly as an expectant mother, a single tear formed and trickled down his poreless face.

"Julia, do me a favour? Warn me if you're going to wave like an idiot at the JumboTron. I won't be able to dodge your arm flab as quickly today."

Julia was already uncomfortable and apprehensive. She'd never been to a rodeo but she had objections to animals used for sport. Bullfighting, dog racing, cockfighting - but out of some sort of patriotism she imagined it was possible she didn't understand the Stampede at all. Perhaps it was all pageantry and how would that be more offensive than, say, the Westminster Dog Show or the Royal Winter Fair? Still, as she munched anxiously on pink popcorn, she was in no mood for Bernard's snark.

"What happened to your pant cuff?" she asked him.

Like a rusted desk lamp, Bernard strained to look down.

"I don't see anything."

"Here," she said. She used the excuse of inspection to swiftly stick a few popped kernels into Bernard's sock in retaliation.

"Very clever, you clodhopper," he griped. But seeing how he could neither bend nor bring his foot to his knee, Julia knew he now suffered a third, unbearable agony: a sticky ankle.

The crowd got noisier. The voices over the PA became more animated. Finally something that sounded like a gunshot cracked overhead and the stands erupted in cheers and whistles. Vérité was no less than thrilled.

"And here we go!" she shouted, leaping to her feet with the rest of the crowd as horns blew and gates parted. What was difficult to see from a million stories up was displayed before them on large screens. A beautiful calf with white and brown patches, large wet eyes and a startled gait, scrambled confused around the ring.

"What in the Sam hell?" Vérité whispered slowly.

A faster than lightning cowboy tore out into the open, threw out his lasso and roped the baby cow so fast around his gangly little legs that his horse had to leap to avoid running him over.

"We're leaving!" Vérité ordered, infuriated. "I mean now!"

"I told you!" Julia said angrily.

"But...but why?" Bernard puzzled.

"This is barbaric!" Vérité yelled. "This isn't sport! It's glorified cow-tipping!"

Julia could not have agreed more. "Why don't they just stick a foot out in front of the starting gate and trip them? It would be just as easy."

"I thought it was all bronco-busting and steer herding, not this Roman Circus!"

"Sit down!" someone from the now seated crowd yelled behind them.

"We all eat meat," Bernard said, pointedly.

"But I don't play with my food before I eat it! It has a nice long organic life and then -" Vérité paused. "I'm uncomfortable with this conversation."

"People! What are you doing?!" a woman the row behind moaned.

"It's cruel and unfair," Julia said. "The same goes for sport hunting. You want to wrestle a bear go ahead, but don't hide behind a shield after laying a food trap and shoot one stumbling hungry out of hibernation."

"But we all wear leather," Bernard insisted.

"NOT BEAR LEATHER!" Vérité screeched before composing herself. "Bernard, strike these notes and let's get out of here. Beryl must be absolutely livid."