Now Henry is a cowman, that's a well-known fact. He buys 'em thin and sick, and hopes I can git 'em fat. He's sent this kind always, but I'm tellin' ya for shore, I aint a gona wet nurse his ole sorry hides no more.
I hear 'em suckers coughin' a comin' off the truck, maybe we'll save half of 'em with jist a little luck. A man's got to be a moron to take on such a chore, but you can bet your bottom dollar, I aint a gona do it anymore.
My horses look like craklins, been doctorin' day and night, handlin' Henry's cattle is one continuous fight. With temperatures below zero, I'm frozen to the core. Henry better believe I aint a gona handle 'em sorry dogs NO MORE!
Just before the pasture's ready, Henry calls me on the phone. He has about a thousand head that shore do need a home. He tells me what a hand I've been, in rain 'n sleet 'n snow. How my head counts always right 'n death loss plenty low.
With all this bull he lays on me, it makes me feel so good. Before I could change my mind, I told him that I would.
C.M. MOSS
1/15/20 - 4/13/99
