Ashes to Ashes
I recently rebooked our postponed 2020 trip to the US. The June trip is a dazzling beacon of joy in the lifting fog of the pandemic. We’ll flee the damp, grey Melbourne winter for warm and sunny American summer, flying first to Los Angeles before embarking on a series of one-way flights criss-crossing the country. Our trip culminates with a Hallmark-quality 4th of July extravaganza in small-town Ohio. There’s a parade, a carnival midway, dogs in clothes, fireworks and pie-eating contests (I’m not sure about that last one, but it seems entirely plausible). It will be the first time my foreign-born but stridently Australian-American children celebrate Independence Day in the US. More than fireworks and ferris wheels, I am most looking forward to fair food. Funnel cakes! Giant frozen daquiris in an electric rainbow of flavours! Full-sized corn dogs! FULL-SIZED CORN DOGS! It’s the stuff dreams-and pre-diabetes-are made of.
Although I love the Granville 4th of July fair for its earnestness and compact layout, it’s got nothing on the State Fair of Texas. Everything’s bigger in Texas and perhaps nowhere is that more apparent than whilst wandering the sprawling state fairgrounds. And the food! Oh, the food! Turkey legs the size of my head, todos tipos de tacos, BBQ brisket and Frito pie, arroz con leche, chicken wings, cheesesteak and deep fried everything– Oreos, mac and cheese, balls of deep-fried butter…Yes. That’s right. Deep-fried butter. Texas swaggers in where the rest of us fear to tread.
Presiding over the whole production, with the omniscient gaze and booming voice of a Southern Zeus, is Big Tex, the larger-than-life fair mascot. The 55-foot (17 m) cowboy has been greeting visitors with his swinging jaw and waving hand, saying howdy and making important fair announcements, since 1953. Tex is a meeting point, a photo op and an iconic cultural ambassador, the undisputed face of the fair. Tragedy struck in 2012, Tex’s 60th turn around the sun, when an electrical short sparked a catastrophic fire. His clothing burned and his silicon face melted away while fair-goers watched in horror. Tex’s charred skeleton remained in Big Tex Circle long enough for mourning patrons to cry and record the macabre scene before he was draped in a canvas shroud and carted away by police escort. But you can’t keep a good cowpoke down; like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Big Tex was rebuilt bigger and better by fair time 2013.
My dachshund Django was the Big Tex of our family, the 4-legged welcome wagon of the Prince-Lucas household. Django was small in stature, a bit under 8 kilos, and low enough to the ground that he could easily trip up less mindful souls, but what he lacked in size he made up for in personality. Django was maybe not the smartest dog–he was never interested in tricks or even playing with toys–but he was so very lovable. He loved his people with the unbridled excitement and unwavering loyalty of a dog who seemed to discover anew each day that he had won a lifetime supply of fresh chicken necks and cuddles. He barked everyone into our house because he was so excited for them to arrive and he barked everyone out when they left because he didn’t want them to go.
An international dog of mystery, Django was born on the outskirts of Shanghai and lived several years in Suzhou, China, initially with my first fur baby, his cousin Saffron. Saffi was his best mate and mentor but Django’s young life was marred by tragedy when Saffi passed away in unexpected circumstances a few years later. Django’s biggest adventure was his voyage from China to Australia. It included a brief stint in Kuala Lumpur followed by a 3 month stay at an expat dog compound in Hong Kong (which I jokingly refer to as Doggie Guantanamo but was more accurately Doggie Club Med) and one month at the quarantine station in Spotswood before landing at his forever home in Preston. I don’t think I have ever seen a dog so happy as when we first visited Django at Spotswood. Nor have I ever known a dog so anxious around suitcases.
Django lived his entire life loving hard and being loved equally hard. He was an incredibly spoiled and tolerant pup. He watched two children be born and evolve from immobile infants to exploring toddlers to curious pre-schoolers to broody pre-teens who routinely argued over who would have him in their lap as they sat on the sofa watching tv. He spent every night not in his own dog bed but rather curled underneath my doona. He devoured beef and kangaroo bones that he was barely big enough to carry and lapped up milk from his bowl like a cartoon cat. We knew rationally he couldn’t live forever but nevertheless felt sure he would. When he passed away suddenly at the end of January, not far shy of his 16th birthday, we were all shattered.
If only, like Big Tex, Little Django could rise from the ashes. The one thing, ironically, that comforts me, the non-believer, is the thought of Django and Saffi reuniting in dog heaven (apparently, all dogs go…) Saffi, wagging her tail like a dog possessed, says to Django, “Hey guy! I’ve been waiting for you!" Django, dopey and lovable little guy that is, gives her a big lick and a toothy smile, as they trot off together on their stubby little legs in search of pats and peanut butter.
Django Prince-Lucas, a very good boy
The Takeaway:
Pets are family as much as human relatives.
Sometimes even more so.
Want to know MORE?
Big Tex began life in 1949 as a giant Santa in small town Kerens, Texas. Few could have guessed the iconic status Tex would achieve when he was purchased for $750 by the State Fair of Texas organisation in 1951. Like any cult figure, Big Tex’s story includes intrigue, controversy and tragedy. Read or listen to this article from North Texas public radio station KERA to learn Tex’s history and see photos of the big man himself (including that fateful day!)
The History of Big Tex at the State Fair of Texas and Why We Love Him So Much
