Gareth Bronson, your cowboy poetry is worth publishing
Yup, that's what my wife said. Your cowboy poetry is some of the best humor I've ever read, so cowboy up, Gareth, Git 'R Done. I do think my beloved might be just a little biased. Even so, Fred made it easier to do than I had thought it would be.
In fact, he made it so easy that your cowboy poetry, too, could be published here. Of course, what I'd really like to see is the new feature he and Pam are considering for the site: A section of Can You Top This stories and poems.
Come on, folks, let Fred and Pam know you feel Can You Top This would be a great feature. Now, about King Kong....
(If you'd like to learn the secret we used to build this page, click on the pony.)
Haying season was over and the time had come
To bring the cattle out of the hills
It wouldn't be long until the calves were weaned
And sold to catch up on the bills
Roundup is about my favorite time of the year
The riding would begin at dawn
I went out to saddle up my favorite horse Reb
And found the cotton pickin' gelding gone
Well, he'd gotten out of the corral before
There was always the old steady mare, Shine
But neither was she to be found anywhere
Though I checked the back pasture six times
Joker was missing, and so was Jake,
Something was just plain wrong
The only four legged critter left on the entire home place
Was my eight-year-old daughter's Shetland pony, King Kong
Little One, I told her in my Daddiest voice
I really need to borrow your ride
She looked at me with her mother's face
And said, I think I'd better stay inside
Daddy, be careful when you ride the King
You know how he feels about men
Of course that got my cowboy ego up in my own face
I should have known I was in trouble then
Little King didn't buck or even try to bite
When I bridled him and climbed aboard
Though the way he laid his ears back made me think
He might have some resentment stored
I had to ride bareback 'cause my saddle wouldn't fit
And my boots were dragging on the ground
Scuffing on the rocks and every thorny bush
King Kong could find a way to rub down
By noon we found the horses and went to herd them in
Things were finally working like they should
Not long now before I'd have them all corralled
What could go wrong? Why, nothing could
Except for one thing: They didn't want to go
And a quarter horse has got more speed
By two p.m. we were back at the barn
Our neighbor was the guy I'd need
Shaking my head, I climbed into my truck
Headed on up the road
Never knowing that before I was out of sight
King Kong was saddled and packing a load
By the time I got back with my neighbor in tow
Plus horses for the two of us
My little girl was riding down off the ridge
Bringing the herd in without a bit of fuss
How she did it we may never know
Though it's your cowboy poetry
That describes how it works when you deal with King Kong
Send a girl; please don't ever send me
Publisher's note: Don't let your cowboy poetry grow up to ride Shetlands.... I offered Gareth the chance to add a footnote, but he said he really didn't have anything more to say.
I might, though. As a boy growing up, I had a less-than-satisfactory experience with a Shetland pony named Mine. Don't ask me why the name; don't think I ever knew. But that is a story for another time.
