Ol’ Betsy

I went down to the barn one day
with my good five gallon pail.
I sat down next to Betsy,
and she switched me with her tail.

She switched me once, she switched me twice.
I tried to calm her down.
But when she switched me in the eye
I had to stand my ground.

So I went and got some bailing twine.
And tied her tail up high.
And then I sat back on that stool
and began another try.

I’d only pulled a teat or two
before she tried again.
This time she took her left hind hoof
and kicked me in the shin.

I’d had about all that I could stand
The pain was just the most.
So I wrapped her leg in bailing twine
and tied it to a post.

I had better luck the third time round,
the pail was a quarter full,
but then she took her right rear foot,
and kicked it like a bull.

The pail flew high across the barn.
The milk trailed high and wide.
The roosters scattered with the hens,
and I sat there and cried.

I couldn’t hit old Betsy
she was my favorite cow.
But I had to think of some technique
to get that milk somehow.

The last piece of that bailing twine
was all that I could do.
I tied her right leg as the left.
and she let out a Moo.

But when I finally sat again
to try and milk some more,
she kicked me with her left front foot
and knocked me on the floor.

I held my breath and thought some things
that can’t be printed here.
And briefly I considered
trading Betsy for a steer.

Instead I picked up that old stool
and walked around behind.
I was about to place it there
when chills ran up my spine.

I looked behind me at the door;
my wife was standing there.
She had a look that weren’t too good,
in fact it was a glare.

Now years have passed since Betsy died.
I don’t remember how.
But I’ve never been able to convince my wife,
I was only gonn’a milk that cow.


Note: This poem I wrote after someone sent me a joke with the same theme.