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On the Edge of Common Sense: The half-polled rooty toot

Contributed by Baxter Black Published on 24 October 2018

Yer not gonna keep ’er, still, are ya Dad?
She must be twelve years old.

I reckon she’s closer to fourteen now,
And naturally half-polled.

You mean she was sired
by a hornless bull?

No. She’s just got one horn.
Which makes her half-polled, or better yet,
It makes her half unicorn.

She could be half clam
if your logic’s right, Clams don’t have any teeth.

You’re changin’ the subject.
We’re talkin’ ’bout horns,
One, she wasn’t bequeathed.

She could be half deer
and just shed one off
While grazin’ through the wire.
And checkin’ this eye, you might conclude
A cyclops was her sire.

Her stumblin’ skip’s like a circus horse,
Always takin’ a bow.

Son, you’re overlookin’
her greatest trait,
Why, she’s a gaited cow.

A half-polled cyclops
with teeth like a clam.
A gaited cow, to boot.
Why don’t you start
a new registered breed,
Call it the Rooty Toot.

Half the pinkeye, more room at the bunk,
And easier to ride.
Rooty Toot breeders
will flock to your door.
Dad, don’t you have any pride.

You’re only lookin’ to find an excuse
To keep her on the place.

I’ll have you know
I make my decisions
On cost, in every case.

While you were
babblin’ and rattlin’ on
Tryin’ to vilify,
I decided to keep her one more year
And you’re the reason why.

‘Cause bein’ the practical man I am,
I say, waste not, want not.
See, I saw you give her
that vitamin A;
I’d hate to waste that shot.  end mark