Sunday Stanza: Half Hitch, Whole Drag

I straddled the chute in the dust and the gloom,
With a Simmy cross cow that spelled certain doom.
She was red as a branding-iron’s mean little kiss,
With a twitch in her eye that spelled nothin’ but risk.

The calf was a-comin’, all hooves and no head,
So, I looped on my chains like the good books have said.
Two half hitches—one high, one low on the leg—
Then I braced for the pull like a man on a keg.

But that ol’ rusty squeeze chute had seen better days,
It groaned like a banshee, then blew in a blaze.
The cow lit out like her tail was on fire,
And me? I was snagged in that fetal attire.

One wrist in the loop, and the other flailin’,
I skidded behind like a dog that was trailin’.
We tore through the barn in a dust-eatin’ dance,
My boots left behind like abandoned romance.

About fifteen yards, I rode that red beast,
Like a rodeo clown at a cowboy’s last feast.
Then finally I wriggled my left hand free—
And lay in the straw where my pride used to be.

The calf made it out with a moo and a sneeze,
The cow tossed her head and sauntered with ease.
And me? I learned quick ‘bout the strength of one chain—
And the humblin’ effects of bovine disdain.

If you pull calves in a barn with no floor,
And the chute looks like it’s from nineteen aught four—
Take heed of my tale, let this lesson remain:
Always check your equipment… and go easy on the chain.

DocBott