I Love A Parade – Once Every Five Years

 There’s an old song that starts out “I love’a parade!” Well, I don’t. Parades, fireworks and the state fair all fall into the same category for me under the heading “Been There Done That.” If I see a parade once every five years, I’m good.

Saturday morning there was a parage at the annual stock show and rodeo. And since I’d seen a parade in the last five years, I wasn’t all that thrilled about going. But Antique Daddy and the boy love that kind of thing and I’m a go-along-get-along kind of gal, so I went. It was a sunny and cool morning, and if you had to go to a parade, it was a great day for it.

Parades in some parts of the country might mean floats and balloons and clowns and that Macy’s kind of thing. In Texas, parade means horses. Lots and lots of horses.

So it wasn’t surprising that first up were the horses. And it was kind of fun the first 25 or so horses. Sean called out “Vilver!” to every horse that passed. Vilver – or Wilbur – is the name of Godmother Gigi’s miniature horse and therefore every horse in the universe is named Wilbur. Ooooh! A spotted horse! (Vilver!) Oh how cute — sparkles on her spotted butt. Oops. Make that his butt. OK Mr. Horse, we get it, you’re a he. Now put that thing away. Oh, and a bow in his tail. No wonder he looks humiliated. Oh. Gosh. Wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t know horses ate bran muffins. So much for the bow.

Oh look. A brown horse. (Vilver!) And a black horse. (Vilver!) And a brown and black horse. (Vilver! Vilver!) And a white horse. And a gray horse. And a white and gray horse. And a big horse. And a little horse. And a very little horse. Old men on horses, old ladies on horses, fat old ladies on horses. Poor horses! Ladies in ruffled dresses on horses, prom queens on horses, Cowboys for Christ on horses, bankers and realtors on horses. Even Chihuahuas on horses. (Vilver! Vilver! Vilver!) I think I’ve just written a Dr. Suess book.

45 minutes and 1,472 bran-muffin-eating horses later, I’m wondering if there are any horses in the state of Texas that are not in downtown Ft. Worth and where did I put my surgical mask? Sean is no longer calling Vilver! to every horse, but picking gum off the sidewalk and I’m thinking of joining him.

Next up, a middle school marching band. No wait. That’s a high school marching band. Well, maybe not marching. Apparently they aren’t too thrilled about being here. I guess if I were marching behind the horses I’d wear that expression too. And a surgical mask. And boots. Or maybe I’d duck out and pick gum off the sidewalk instead.

And then there were more horses and that was the end of the parade.

That oughta’ do me for another five.

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