The old heifer

went right through the barbed wire

again

to get to the fescue,

or, maybe, it was just the idea of fences.

I never had a motive, myself,

that I fully understood,

and here I am talking about heifers,

as one who knows.

I’m like that,

some days.

Most days, actually.

“Damn cow,” said Tom,

surveying the damage.

“No bull would tear up a fence like that,

only a damn cow.

I’m going to sell her for sure

this time.

Let someone else

worry with her.

Pass the problem on.

That’s all you can do with

cows like this one.

Or shoot ‘em,

and have a barbeque.

And, something else boy,

about cows and bulls,

is that bulls close their eyes

when they charge you,

and, if you’re careful,

you can get out of the way.

That’s why bullfighters live

so long.

You never hear anything

about a cowfighter.

That’s because

cows’ll come at you with

their eyes wide open,

full of hatred and determination.

You better have a tree

to put between yourself

and a cow that’s riled up.

Don’t think you’ve done

something if you just

get on the other side

of a fence.”

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