Nonimmigrant: None more Texas

It was time for the rodeo proper. As I stepped off the metro train and walked into the showground one thing became apparent: this place is huge. With two arenas, one stadium, and a fairground (complete with three Ferris wheels) in-between, it is truly Texas-sized. By my estimation it was even larger than the Frome Cheese Show! So: big.

Alone, this was my chance to see exactly what I wanted to, so after entering a competition to win a truck I wandered to the cattle arena and cast my eye over the junior longhorn judging. There was little chance of me blending in as I'd fatally misread the dress code: blue jeans, cowboy boots, and most essentially a hat were all orders of the day, even with temperatures touching 80F outside and me in my shorts and T-shirt.

I cut my losses and headed to the sheep arena, where I have a little more expertise having successfully showed my cousin's pen of three in the Carmarthenshire Show circa 1994. The breeding rams were getting judged, but even here Texan bling was everywhere, owners accessorising to their sheep's halters and reigns. As I left I was asked by a kindly steward if I was lost, and - to my shame - stutteringly enquired as to where the guinea pigs were. I was dismissed to a far part of the showground.

I left through what was basically a temporary western mega-mall; boots, hats, saddles, spurs and lassos, paintings, photos, and T-shirts of Texas, hides and skins from every animal that ever walked God's fair earth and got shot for it. It was so dizzying I had to find refreshment before continuing, and luckily "chicken fried bacon" was available just outside. Yes, bacon breaded and then deep fried like a chicken. Only 10,000 calories a bite. It was delicious.

On my guinea pig quest I happened to pass a very raucous tent in which I discovered "mutton busting". I watched, open-mouthed, as parents paid $15 for their five- and six-year-olds to be placed on sheep and then released into a long pen. The child that held on the longest as the sheep bolted was the winner. Despite the immense padding on each small child this seemed like a hundred lawsuits waiting to happen, and may be that in a state less enlightened that Texas. As it was the whooping and hollering drowned out any safety concerns, for sheep or human. I left astounded, and a little more Texan than when I walked in.

I finally found the rabbits and guinea pigs, at the side of the horse arena, in time for the costume contest. This is what I was here for, as were the 50 contestants who had arrived with well-dressed rodents. I was there for the cute-but-ironic amusement, though I quickly discovered I was the only person not taking this deadly seriously. Parents were coaching loudly from beyond the spectators' fence, and there was a judging panel of ten making the rounds, deliberating who to award one of five minor prizes to and then the main trophy. My money was on Alice in Wonderland - a well executed if somewhat prosaic use of a white rabbit - but the "sweet sixteen princess bunny" won the top prize. There was much excited screaming from the mother next to me when her daughter won. "Sorry," she said. "We've had a hard year." I didn't ask any more.

It took me an hour to get back to where I'd started that morning, mostly because I stopped at every truck and tractor on the way. The trouble with going to an agricultural show without a five-yr-old is that strangers look at you funny when you sit in a tractor going "brrrrm brrrrm" by yourself. I'll save that for Saturday, when we will return as a family with tickets for bucking broncos and country music in the stadium. You have got to come out and see this - y'all don't know what you're missing.