Paul Marchant

When I was a kid, one of my favorite treats was a chunk of sugar and sour something-or-other with a Sweet-Tart label, if I remember right. It was the exact size and shape of a big old sulfa bolus.

I really don’t like to consider myself as part of an older generation of any sort. I’m afraid, though, the truth of the matter is: I fit into that demographic in several different categories. Being labeled in the older generation certainly beats the alternative to growing older, but it’s still not something I gladly concede.

In December, I was able to go to Las Vegas and experience the spectacle that is the National Finals Rodeo for the first time. My purpose was to attend the PRCA meetings and hopefully gain something that would help me, as a member of our county fair and rodeo board, assist in putting on a better production every August for the locals in south-central Idaho.

My brother-in-law, Jason, is a Kansas State track and field alumnus and a native of the Boise Valley, and as such is a devoted fan of not only his alma mater but also of the Boise State Broncos.

Not long after I got out of college, I worked on an outfit whose owner loved good horses. More than the horses, though, he loved to trade horses. To that end, there was never a shortage of colts, knotheads and green horses to ride. I started a couple of geldings, but I really took a shine to a particular little sorrel mare.

Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to judge a lot of junior livestock shows at county fairs. I’m tempted to replace the word “opportunity” with the word “pleasure.” But while in the context of livestock judging the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive, neither do they always fit happily hand in hand.