It was a late Saturday afternoon when Donelle glanced out the front window and saw a cow, one lone cow, standing on her front porch. She did not look docile or friendly like some cows do. This one had a wild look in her eye. Donelle was pretty sure the cow came from a bunch that Mr. Mark had unloaded into a nearby pasture near the Mariposa county fairgrounds several weeks ago. He'd come back to gather them this particular Saturday. The whole bunch was spooky and skitterish as a bag of yellow hornets in a paint shaker! Since he couldn't ride within 50 yards of one, he had brought along his prized Catahoula hounds. Within 25 minutes he and the dogs had managed to get one cow into the trap, almost. She was the one that ended up on Donelle's front porch.
Mark was careful as he approached the lone cow. He was holding his dogs back since an all out frontal attack might put the cow through the $2500 plate glass picture window in Donelle's living room. This was not the first time they had issues about loose cows.
It was obvious the cow was on the fight. She would snort and bawl at her reflection in the window. Anytime, anytime, he thought, she was going to charge. Mark made a decision; he jumped up on the porch and clung to a corner pole. She pawed the front porch boards. The three hounds came up the other side snarling and nipping. It was an easy choice for the cow, she charged Mark! He swung like he was decorating a May pole as she flew by, smashing the decoratively carved porch railing into smithereens! The cow whirled to run him over but was hit by a squadron of Catahoulas!
Inside Donelle was watching her house and yard the same way the Cajuns watched Katrina coming. She raced to the back door just as the cow jumped up on the back porch six feet off the ground. Pretty good jump for a cow! She heard Mark whistle his dogs off. They slunk back, salivating.
Donelle started closing windows in the kitchen to keep the cow from having any thoughts of making a house call. The cow stood her ground. She was still worked up. Donelle let one or two minutes go by, then decided she might just be able to shoo the cow off the porch. Carefully she pushed the screen door open just as Mark yelled, "Don't open the door!" Too late!
The cow charged through the screen door scattering hinges, springs and boards and mowed down Donelle! Into the living room the mad bovine coursed at full gallop with a screen door picture frame flapping around her neck. She hit the hardwood floor, recently waxed, and slid like a hockey player going in for a body slam. The sofa flipped over, the cow stuck a foot through the bottom as springs flew sideways and stuffing filled the air like a bomb in a chicken house!
In the interim, Mark raced back around the house to the front porch. He looked through the window glass in the door. He could see the cow plowing through the living room like a bulldozer! She saw light at the end of the tunnel! She jumped right through it, glass breaking, boards tearing, doorknobs flying, and Mark, who was catapulted backwards, hit the wounded rail, flipped and landed on his feet just in time for the cow to run over him.
What can I say? No one could make up a cowboy story that good!
Baxter Black is a self-described cowboy poet, ex-veterinarian and sorry team roper. He can be contacted at 1-800-654-2550 or by e-mail at:firstname.lastname@example.org