Cowboy small.

Tale goes.

So, some would-be
heifer heisters hopped
the wrong fence to the 
green-grassest pasture 
they'd planned to burgle
on Sunday. The other 
side looked too trod
up and mown down,
maybe. A bit muddy

- it rained out there. 

That's the only way 
I can figure it: they 
chose on grass. They 
went for lush. They 
were high on dewy 
fumes, seeing green 
over some easy cow
catch - or so they
supposed wrong. 

I was on football duty, 
as usually per that day 
in finest season. See,

...the noise I heard...
from I knew not what, it out
rattled the windows. No tv
could muffle it, plus me all
up in the game yelling. What
happened you don't ask? 

They tried to pull the bull by
mistake!

A not so easy thing to do even
on purpose, I hope you'll allow.

Hard mistake,
too. Face up,
it's no bum steer
I leave out here dozing
in clover to draw out the
wrong 'un crowd,
apparently. I don't
know
why I'd do
that so mean.

Neither did he
- the bull. He thought!
(I think) I'd asked
bad company over! And
not the old rock band.
Pissed as all! Blames me
for all kinds of bull complaint.
We neither/nor of us know

just
why 

they
did it. Not
that way.
O Lord please
that's a no-go
to go-by for
life, and never
again.

A stymie on us both, somehow.
Me and him made it up as usual, but
it went hard for him that day. The cows
in hindsight plus the moment
(cows chew both)
thought it hilarious!

Called him a: she-calf!
A cowgirlish beast indeed,
and was he having it?

Had to. Fence. They cowcalled
mercilessly to his flank and ass, largely.
He was turned that way, and you try
turning him some other way, sometime.

No? As you prefer.
Wise preference,
between us.

Him? Awe, for sure, you know he
did not say a word. That sexy moo
woo ho-ho-lowing chorus at his obvious
expense (he knew. First time I ever saw
that bull blush!) was a bad morning sign,
but his call of bull shit duty got duly audible
on the very-near corpse
I had suddenly almost on
my hands, to go run help, yelling

my dang head off! I guess you
remember all about that alright. 

Sorry.

"What are you DOING there, man!" I about
cried! I wasn't about to ask the bull. Damn obvious
what he'd been doing there. 

Some poor man, actually - to judge by clothes,
he had funds sufficient as to unexcuse his late
misexpedition and guess his current state "earned,"
but this man so-called - was a child, really still.
And gasping. Real pity, considering he must of
been at least twenty nine and a child so almost
still, for keeps - some guy!

Whose damn so-called buddies forgot to
include in the "no would be beef
thief left
in blood clover,
gored in both cheeks
behind by the horns" rule.

Always supposing they happen to
have some such law. Probably? 

They just plumb forgot! A good
run of bull'll make you, if you
notice in time. 

Cows over there, guys. 

Wrong siders can't seem to mind
what fences are for, somehow. Next
time?

Bull's right where you left it.

Any less would be way off-brand for
this hand. I ranch it in an unhidden
no-valley high-plains way these salad
days, but if you like your pants dressed
foul inside instead of creamy buttermilk
and herbs draped gracefully over fresh
local greens and reds, hey, go toss your
self on a fresh plate and chow down with
corn and beans, please! 

We don't serve pants that way, especially.
 
Never on the menu, and the cook (me) 
does no custom orders so stank vile.  

Come by, by and by. Please feel free
to be our guest again. Next time,
though? Hot tip for such local
homes. Just come to front door
and knock, maybe. Ask

who answers.

That'd be me.

Or maybe the butler, but if she
shows up, run. Butlers are the most 
lethal profession in the home service
business. They always do it - her
especially,
trust me.  

No, she does not dress me. That's
a manservant. I can man my own 
post and kit, pal. If she dressed 
me? It would be too funny. Come
see for yourself, show up front
next Sunday. You'll see us dressed
by each other for church, or in our 

respective equivalent-day bests!  

Just knock and ask nice. Bring
beer, if you love a good game.
You can stay pretty comfy, big 
sofa - and the huge recliner is 
mine, but don't sweat the dog. 
He's cool. He knows 

we don't allow bull in the house 
after how he barked last time. Good 
dog. 

Not so nice bull, but when is it? 

Front and center, step up direct!
That way ends less mean for one's
behind, most days. Just to be a touch
more forward and honest about the
visit, nature, purpose and character
assumed fine.

Rather than
you know,
some wrong
-way cosplay fence
-jumping ninjas of what's
evidently not the cow out there. 

Welcome always! Amen? 

Ahem. That's grace then, let's 

eat. Folks? Dear? 

And you, friend especially new
and tender, probably just now?

I want you all to know. The story
is amoral, but it's got a certain ethos.

A fine line it 'tis, some blind or seeming
dumb guys (all five of them: dudes) draw
where there's obviously been a fence laid
for some reason. A fine, bright line!

Between funny 'cause
true, and so wrong
it's funny.

Some don't
see it that way,
soon enough.

Well.

That's how the rest of them saved
ass, face and limb well enough but
quick - by jumping down the well!

Now, I ask you all. You were there, 
you saw the condition of that well -

except Kid Clover over here. How's
that go down, for one whopping tale
of unintentional high plains ranch
-dressed hospitality? 

Of course it's true-based. What? I don't
serve artificial salad to my worst enemy,
chum! 

Now, how's the shark steak? Need sea salt?
Lemon-squeeze? Capers, or Cajun pan 
black reheat n' sear deal? Found it online,
new recipe! Got it in one try. Oh, dear.

It's what? You sure? Hey,

okay. 

Terrible's as good as some cooks get,
I guess you know you choosy beggar
- no offense. It's akin to your business, 
only less asking I guess. Your personal
taste is recognized fine. So I apologize.

But please, don't waste your time to yuck
the yum you could love if you choke down
so much of it!

You
might
find a taste

to acquire some.

More?

Sure, 
there's always plenty
someplace. 

Help yourself. Make yourself 
down home. Sorry about the bull,
as always, but he's kind of taken
by all those cows! 

He was not going away with you 
anywhere, nohow. Stuck fast, pretty
much irresistible when flirted 
with the wrong way. No bull
to confuse, if you know what's
good for either of you.  

Wait 'til you see what's up
for desert, spoiler alert. You'll
never-gue-HA! Yeah! Crème
broo lay. Nailed it in one, damn
cool, there sun. Obvious choice,
I guess it was - but sometimes?

It takes a cliché or two, to make
folksy homey in these parts. How's

the butt? 

Shut up? 

Alright.