In a Sow’s Ear 11-2-09 | TheFencePost.com

In a Sow’s Ear 11-2-09

When a ranch woman has a chance to go to town intending to have a grand meal at a fine restaurant, don’t get in her way. The following illustrates the point.

Ranch Woman Blues

I’d showered and dressed

in my town-going best,

I was having my lunch today.

Where the food was divine

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and it wasn’t mine,

And a waitress would clear it away.

As I drove past the gulch,

the road was a mulch

From the rain that fell last night;

I was going real slow,

had the gears in low,

When I saw a pitiful sight.

For there in the slough,

stuck fast in the goo,

And struggling with all her might.

Was our milk cow, Bessie,

she sure was messy,

Her milk would be sour tonight.

I buckled on boots

to protect my cute

Town-going garments from goo.

Then I walked around,

testing the ground,

And studied just what to do.

I got out a rope,

I had some hope

I could get that cow unstuck;

To keep out of the goop,

I made a big loop

And tossed it across the muck.

It fell like a collar,

I let out a holler

And pulled as hard as I could;

The lariat stretched and

the cow she retched;

The rope was burning my hand.

So I turned to my truck,

I was praying with luck,

The Ford was a match for the bog;

I tied to the bumper,

the pull should’ve humped her

Right out of that gooey sog.

I backed up slow,

had a ways to go

As I pulled out all the stops;

Old Bessie she stumbled,

she bellered and grumbled

But out of the gorp she popped!

Though I’d saved her neck,

she was madder than heck

On me she blamed her plight;

She bellowed a threat;

I broke out in a sweat

Old Bessie was on the fight.

I slipped down the line,

I was doing right fine

As hand over hand I inched;

Bessie let out a squall and

a hideous bawl;

The noose round her throat had pinched.

When Bessie was free,

I turned to flee,

She wanted me stuck on her horn;

But more than just wary,

I sure didn’t tarry

A blur’s what you saw of my form.

I circled west just

a-doing my best,

Her dragon’s breath seared my hide;

As I sped round the truck,

I was hoping with luck

I could manage to slip inside.

The handle I missed and

I felt Bessie kiss

The back of my front where I sit;

Such a pitiful wailing

as I went a sailing

Pitched on my face in the … pies

Then off up the slope,

she ran at a lope

Still bellerin’ as she raced;

Though she sounded abused,

I wasn’t amused

As I wiped some stuff off my face.

I sat in the glop where

I’d come to a stop

My town-going clothes were a mess;

I had a bleak hunch

I would miss my fine lunch;

You talk about rural distress!