by Gwen Petersen

Big Timber, Mont.

When it’s calving season on the ranch,

My life is not my own,

For I must do the heifer dance,

Regardless how I groan.

In my Carhartt coat, my cap pulled low

To guard against the weather;

I pull on boots and once more go

Out to check the heifers.

For 27 days, I’ve lived in sweats,

And slept in a rocking chair;

I’ve slogged through snow and mud–and yet,

The job’s still lurking there!

I think as I trudge just one more time,

Of bubble baths and creams,

And an actual bed upon which to recline,

But I know it’s only a dream.

For in the shed there’s 11 more heifers

Each waiting to have a baby;

I’m doomed to wear these sweats forever,

I think I’m going crazy.

I dream of spas where needs are met

With massage and fancy lotions,

Applied by persons who could make me forget

All my upsetting notions.

It’s just my fancy, but what’s the harm?

I tramp on tired feet;

It’s my ninety-ninth trip out to the barn,

And I am totally beat.

But not to worry, for I have a gadget

That relieves my aching feet;

A roller-ball gizmo, and when I’ve had it,

It gives my feet a treat.

When I’m done for the night, and relax at last,

I collapse in my rocking chair,

And roller my feet – oh, it’s a gas!

There’s nothing like it, I swear!

So while I may dream of fancy spas,

Where persons jump to my call,

When calving, just give me a foot massage

With my trusty roller ball.