My late husband's family had a long term lease on range land in the Crow Indian Reservation. The reservation was a about 50 miles away from the home ranch near Roberts, Montana. Every Spring, the family would drive their cattle to the range land in the reservation; and in fall, they would drive them back to their ranch. My husband figured he'd been on at least 30 of these cattle drives. On one such cattle drive, one of the bulls got loose and rampaged through a farm yard and tore down a clothes line. I don't suppose the owner of the clothesline though that a bull hauling off a clothesline with some of the clothes caught on its horn was too humorous. My husband, however got a laugh out of it every time he thought about it. Here's a poem I wrote for him.
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AUNT B'S BLOOMERS |
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That bull of ol' Tom Clancy done tore my clothesline down. It gored my pair a bloomers; then took off straight fer town. It's out there somewheres runnin' 'round... my bloomers on its horn, fer all the bloody world t' see- all muddy, ripped 'n torn. It headed straight fer town, it did. My bloomers waved goodbye. I called yer Uncle Henry out and thought that I would cry. My brand new bloomers flyin' like some riddled battle flag; a wavin' on that bull's horn like some old worn out rag. |
I didn't think it funny much.... my drawers on some bulls head.... I never will forgive ol' Hank for what he done and said. That mangy no-good hound dog. He thought it quite a joke. my bloomers waving back at him. I thought the man'd croak. He laughed and laughed... neat split his gut all the while a blurtin', "There's no one gonna git into yer bloomers, that's fer certain." "Yer humor sucks!", I sez to Hank, "but this time I agree. There's NO ONE gonna git into my bloomers! Wait 'n see! " Bette Wolf Duncan ©2001 All rights reserved. |
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