Budweiser Dalmatian (Click to enlarge)
Budweiser Clydesdales (Click to enlarge)
Our New Orleans Saints won Super Bowl XLIV. To those of us in southern Louisiana it didn’t seem like winning a game. It seemed like something more. A symbol of hope or even a reminder that anything is possible.
The city of New Orleans put on the biggest parade anyone has ever seen here. Some estimates had the crowds at 800,000. I was one of those. It was a sight to behold. My experience can be viewed at Sisters Pet Pics Goes to the Saints Victory Parade.
One thing about having a good camera with a good telephoto lens is that you are privy to visual information that the casual observer may not notice. Any photograph gives you one opportunity to capture more information than the naked eye; a telephoto lens gives you another. Both give you needed time to process what you’ve seen.
After the beads have been thrown, after the stars have passed, I get to process again what I saw. Yes, I saw talented athletes, brilliant coaches, and even kind and generous citizens. Do you sense a ‘but’ coming? There is.
If you view the slide show you will probably see the photos quickly. It will give you the feeling of having the floats pass before you. You will also see the images not cropped. You will see happy people riding behind the animals celebrating as we do in New Orleans – by throwing trinkets to the masses. But at my computer I saw something else that disturbed me. The men in green are not smiling in any of the shots I saw of them that entire day by many other photographers. The Dalmatian is doing her/his job but somehow s/he doesn’t seem too happy about it either.
Come on, you may say. Get a grip. Perhaps. But Dalmatians are horse dogs. They like to hang with them. It has been written that they prefer the company of horses. They feel the horses. Then I looked at all the photos I had of the Clydesdales, and I cropped them close. This is what I saw. The bridles are too tight. Even with loose reins the bits are digging into their mouths. I also noticed that the harnesses are so tight across their backs that they appear to lift their tails even at rest.
At one point I saw one of the middle horses throwing his head with his mouth open and his tongue out. The insiders – the men in green, the Dalmatian, the Clydesdales – are not happy for good reason. This was not a celebration for them. They are being unduly and unfairly burdened.
I had always wanted to see the famous Budweiser Clydesdales. This was my first opportunity. I will be watching for them again. And I won’t let my emotion cloud my judgment.
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