Dances with Bullocks
Posted: Sun Jun 14, 2020 10:46 pm
Dances with Bullocks
( By Alan McCosker May 2020)
At least 16 hands from his hoof to his back
a good yard wide at the shoulder,
could’a set up and played cards on his back
his long horns were even more wider.
Them horns had been tipped, a long time ago
but no brand was etched on his brown hide,
I’d rousted him out, from where green grass did grow
in a lush little spot by the riverside.
The biggest old bullock I’d yet tried to toss,
he was big, he was fast, he was mean
and he trotted away like he knew he was boss,
not one backward glance to be seen.
I got up to his rump, tried urgin’ him on
nothin’ I did would make him run faster,
that shoulda warned me, he was havin’ me on,
too green to know I was headin’ for disaster.
But after a mile when his stride didn’t fail,
I was gettin’ too far from the coaches,
I jumped off the horse ’n’ latched on to his tail,
two other ringers were makin’ approaches.
At five bucks a head for this mountain of beef
I wanted to be the one who would claim him,
they were comin’ real fast so my chance it was brief,
to beat me to him, I knew they were aimin’.
As I grabbed on his tail, he whipped around fast
flickin’ me ‘round on the end of his tail,
we danced ‘round ’n’ ‘round with his tail in my grasp,
tryin’ to cross his front legs, so he’d fall.
The ringers arrived and just sat there laughin’
I got more determined than ever to toss ‘im,
‘round and ‘round we did dance until I knocked up,
I gave him best and turned ‘round to depart ‘im.
As I let go ’n’ turned, I stumbled ’n’ fell
that old bullock was on me in a moment,
he horned me, he rolled me, knelt on me as well
payin’ me, back in spades for my torment.
He got them horns underneath me and threw me up high
they said I flew like an ungainly goony bird,
caught me on the way down and blackened my eye
then calmly trotted back to the riverside.
Them ringers had sat there, through all the action
watchin’ the wadjela get rolled by that bullock,
it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen on the station
seein’ the wadjela bounce, as the bullock made havoc.
The head stockman rode up, leadin’ my horse,
he had a great grin spread all over his clock,
my shirt was tore off, bruised my ego of course,
black and blue from my dance with that bullock.
( By Alan McCosker May 2020)
At least 16 hands from his hoof to his back
a good yard wide at the shoulder,
could’a set up and played cards on his back
his long horns were even more wider.
Them horns had been tipped, a long time ago
but no brand was etched on his brown hide,
I’d rousted him out, from where green grass did grow
in a lush little spot by the riverside.
The biggest old bullock I’d yet tried to toss,
he was big, he was fast, he was mean
and he trotted away like he knew he was boss,
not one backward glance to be seen.
I got up to his rump, tried urgin’ him on
nothin’ I did would make him run faster,
that shoulda warned me, he was havin’ me on,
too green to know I was headin’ for disaster.
But after a mile when his stride didn’t fail,
I was gettin’ too far from the coaches,
I jumped off the horse ’n’ latched on to his tail,
two other ringers were makin’ approaches.
At five bucks a head for this mountain of beef
I wanted to be the one who would claim him,
they were comin’ real fast so my chance it was brief,
to beat me to him, I knew they were aimin’.
As I grabbed on his tail, he whipped around fast
flickin’ me ‘round on the end of his tail,
we danced ‘round ’n’ ‘round with his tail in my grasp,
tryin’ to cross his front legs, so he’d fall.
The ringers arrived and just sat there laughin’
I got more determined than ever to toss ‘im,
‘round and ‘round we did dance until I knocked up,
I gave him best and turned ‘round to depart ‘im.
As I let go ’n’ turned, I stumbled ’n’ fell
that old bullock was on me in a moment,
he horned me, he rolled me, knelt on me as well
payin’ me, back in spades for my torment.
He got them horns underneath me and threw me up high
they said I flew like an ungainly goony bird,
caught me on the way down and blackened my eye
then calmly trotted back to the riverside.
Them ringers had sat there, through all the action
watchin’ the wadjela get rolled by that bullock,
it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen on the station
seein’ the wadjela bounce, as the bullock made havoc.
The head stockman rode up, leadin’ my horse,
he had a great grin spread all over his clock,
my shirt was tore off, bruised my ego of course,
black and blue from my dance with that bullock.