Baxter Black

Pete was invited to put on a working stockdog demonstration at the agricultural fair in the nearby town of Perdue, Saskatchewan. He could have brought his own lambs that were “dog-wise,” but his hosts offered to furnish the sheep.

Now, everyone I ever knew that did much work with stock has spent some time in practice throwin’ houlihans at rocks. And be they real cowboys or pretenders with a hat, all dream of ropin’ just one steer in three-point-nothin’ flat.

I was at a Farm Bureau meeting and scheduled to be on their program. I stepped off the elevator and a dark-haired lady greeted me in the corridor. “Does anybody tell you that you look like Sam Elliot?” she said, “My husband just loves your stuff.

“Doc, I’ve got a heifer that just had a calf. She’s not accepting it very well. Can I bring her in for psycowlogical counseling?”

It all started with that call from the worried cowman. My veterinary specialty of cow psycowlogy has gained popularity since my article appeared. It was titled “Paranoia in Dairy Cows”

“Say, anybody got a light? It sure is dark in here
And tighter’n the skin on Polish sausage.
For nine long months I’ve trusted Mom, and now she’s pulled the plug.
A pure and simple case of double-crossage.

It was cold this winter. How cold was it?