Bullocks by Harvey Dux

Bullocks

The means of many farmers run to more than crops or sheep,
And some have grown the strangest things to cover board and keep,
But Mick was into cattle, mainly keeping them for charm,
(And also keeping down the grass out on the family farm.)

Now part of Mick's farm strategy involved some grim details,
For once they reached a certain age he neutered all the males.
This act of "cutting calves" was done with some help from his wife,
Who had to tie them in the crush before they got the knife.

She wasn't fond of cutting calves, and told Mick how she felt,
(And kept on telling Mick until he thought his ears would melt!)
Mick did his best to pay no heed; he got on with the chore,
He knew best not to stop her, else she'd just complain some more.

Now Mick was half way through a cut, his wife still discontent,
And less concerned about the calf than voicing what she meant.
When all at once, the calf's back leg came loose and waved about,
Collecting Mick between his legs, with one almighty clout!

Poor Mick went down, the wind knocked out, his eyes were huge with pain,
His missus, though, remained unmoved, and started up again.
"The poor sweet calf, it's suffering while you're just lying there,"
She bellowed at her gasping mate, who lay in dumb despair.

"Get up and finish cutting it, before it bleeds to death!"
But Mick just groaned in agony and tried to catch his breath.
"I know what you are up to, you're just putting on an act.
You won't get me to finish it, and that, there, Mick's a fact!"

"Get up, you no good layabout, whatever hurts will heal,
And now you know exactly how the poor young bullocks feel!"
Mick slowly staggered to his feet, his face a ghostly gray,
He finished off the bleeding calf, he'd done enough today.

In fact, poor Mick was never known to cut a calf again,
For rumor had it Mick would suffer sympathetic pain.
So when it's time to do the deed, he contracts out the task,
But no one really knows the truth, for no one's game to ask.

-Harvey Dux -

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