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(Red) Western Kansas is littered with small, weather-beaten red signs proclaiming an abundance of strange and wonderful creatures at Prairie Dog Town along a desolate stretch of I-70 outside Oakley. After 10 years of driving past this roadside attraction and never having the time or the desire to give pause, I finally decided to make the stop and see what all the fuss was about. After firing down a fat hog-leg in the gravel parking lot to get in the proper frame of mind, I entered the ramshackle building and was immediately accosted by all manner of cheap T-shirts and novelty items. Leaving the shopping for the weak, I eagerly ponied up the $5.25 cover charge in change and small crinkled bills to gain entrance to said freakshow. The brochure sounded mildly promising... “See Animals Not in the Zoo and Many More” and “Home of the 8,000 lb. Prairie Dog.” I guess it all started 30 years ago with a pet badger named “Baddge” and I gazed around unsuccessfully for his stuffed carcass hanging from the wall. Mr. Farmer, the man who takes responsibility for it all, attributes his success to the fact that “most visitors have shared many good times with the animals at a reasonable price...” ok... right... Acknowledging that I had just entered the worst of tourist traps, I hoped against all odds that my bloodshot eyes would be able see through all the glitz and glitter to find meaning where there certainly could be none. I passed by a large tank filled with sluggish rattlesnakes ($3/lb) and made my way out back, to a dusty arena where a wide array of unhappy animals were sweating profusely in their pens. A herd of goats and a plethora of annoying little prairie dogs immediately surrounded me. I made my way through the disgruntled animals with a tinge of fear for my well being, inching my way towards the side in the sweltering Kansas sun and holding my palms outstretched to show that I had no sustenance to offer. What I encountered was just as unbelievable as I had expected. Each cell that I approached was crudely labeled in pseudo-hillbilly scrawl with the name of the hostage within, as if written by a dyslexic child with a large black crayon. Some of the legible signage read: Giant Flemish Rabbits, Mouflon Sheep, Russian Eared Pheasants, Muntant Pheasants, Fainting Goats (I didn’t see one fall), Skunks, Pigeons, Baby Pigs, Turtles and, of course, the 8000 lb. cement Prairie Dog presiding over it all from the corner and laughing all the way to the bank. The situation was truly depressing and I quickly found myself sorry for contributing funds towards this crime against humanity. I made my way past each pen, peering through the dung incrusted wire mesh to see pathetic looking creatures squinting back at me, each asking why and receiving no logical answer, for I could offer none. I had hoped to document this travesty so nobody else would have to stop and witness the horror; but I could not bring myself to take photos of any of the hapless creatures. Just suffice it to say that this “attraction” is not worth $5.25. It is not even worth the 50 cents Farmer charged 30 years ago and I recommend that everyone pass it by if you must travel through Western Kansas. I hopped back into the Clipper and we made our way toward Mill Creek Campground, just west of Topeka. We arrived around sunset and quickly got settled at a site down low on a floodplain next to a confused Amish couple traveling in a small RV. I was immediately shown the tornado shelter and told to listen for the hysterical screams of campers if one appeared. Having been completely unimpressed by the movie Twister, I joyfully hit the showers to wash the collected filth from my soul before crawling into bed and falling into a deep slumber under dark skies above.
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