2nd Place

A short story by Dave Howe                        July 7, 2026

It was a warm day in the summer of 1958. I was thirteen. We were going to the Maxwell rodeo. I asked Mom, “Can I invite Larry Woofter?”

“I’ll call his mom,” she answered.

Twenty minutes later Larry’s mom dropped him off. We piled into the car and set off north on Highway 99 to Maxwell.

The rodeo was in full swing when we arrived. There was a Ferris wheel, games and lots of food booths. Mom gave each of us fifty cents and told us to meet her by the car at four. Off we ran before she could change her mind.

The first event that caught our attention was bareback bronc riding. We perched on the top rail of the cedar fence, leaning forward to see real working cowboys handle bucking stock. Instead, our shoulders slumped as the first rider came out of the chute.

The riders didn’t sit on the horse like normal. They sort of laid on their backs with their feet up around the horse’s neck.

“Why are they riding like that?” I asked the fella beside us.

“They have to lean back in order to score points,” he answered.

They looked like clowns so we left to look for the Brahma bulls. The bulls were in pens ready to get ridden and we could reach through the fence and pet them. “Get those boys out of there,” a voice shouted. We hightailed it.

Behind the grandstand, the air was thick with the smell of horse manure and kicked-up dust. Heavy leather saddles creaked as working cowboys swung stiff hemp lariats into tight, whistling loops, snapping them over fence posts with a sharp crack. I was leaning in to watch a bay gelding side-step when a gruff man shouted, “You kids get out of here!”

We didn’t wait for a second warning and ducked straight into the crowd.

In the 4-H tent we watched kids our age parade around with their prize sheep. Some of the animals were bigger than the kids. We kicked at the straw on the ground and nodded politely at the rows of groomed livestock, trying to catch the eyes of the girls waiting by the pens.

On the way to watch the bull riding we passed a booth. The sign said Guess the Weight of the Pig and win a hundred dollars. It cost a dollar to enter. We pooled our money and put in a guess. 131 pounds, 4 ounces.

The bull riding was spectacular. The cowboys sat on the bull like normal and when they got bucked off they really flew into the air. The clowns were the best part. Even though they were dressed like clowns, they rescued the riders and distracted the bulls, putting themselves in real danger. We were sitting on the rail when the announcer’s voice boomed. “Get those kids off the fence.” We dropped down into the sawdust immediately. With four o’clock ticking closer, we left the arena behind and headed back to the car to meet Mom. . It was the last day of the rodeo and everyone was packing up the displays.

The next morning Mom got a call during breakfast. “Mrs. Howe, is your son named David?”

“Yes.”

“Your son won second place in the Guess the Weight of the Pig contest.”

“That’s nice, what did he win?”

“He won the pig. We need you to come and pick it up right away.”

Mom called Larry’s mom and we picked him up on the way.

In Maxwell we drove into the fairgrounds and right up to the pen where the pig contest had been. A nice man pointed to the pig and said, “Good luck.”

Mom opened the trunk of the big Oldsmobile and told us to put the pig in. Larry and I got in the pen and grabbed at the pig. I had no idea pigs could move so fast. I grabbed a leg. Larry grabbed the pig around the middle. We both wound up sprawled in the dirt.

The pig bolted out the gate like a pink streak, squealing at the top of its lungs as it tore through the collapsing display booths. Larry and I dove for the pig, missing it by inches before three guys cut off the escape.

Mom spoke to someone she knew.  They spoke to others and soon at least a dozen cowboys, horses and ropes joined the roundup. They were whooping and hollering, challenging each other to cut off the runner and making fun whenever a rope missed. They chased that pig all around the deserted fairgrounds. I had forgotten that Mom had grown up in Maxwell and knew most of the boys (now men) in the town. Catching our pig had turned into another rodeo event.

Eventually the pig was roped and stuffed into a gunny sack. Two cowboys helped load the squirming sack into the trunk. We got out of therer as fast as Mom could drive.

Back home in Arbuckle we had another problem. There was a pig in the trunk and no cowboys around to help.

Once more, Mom came to the rescue. She called Johnny Haynes and offered the pig for a 4-H project. Johnny paid $50 for the pig and got some ranch hands to take it out of the trunk and set it free in its new home.