My late husband's family had a long term lease on range land in the Crow Indian Reservation. The reservation was a about 50 miles away from the home ranch near Roberts, Montana. Every Spring, the family would drive their cattle to the range land in the reservation; and in fall, they would drive them back to their ranch. My husband figured he'd been on at least 20 of these cattle drives. On one such cattle drive, one of the bulls got loose and rampaged through a farm yard and tore down a clothes line. I don't suppose the owner of the clothesline though that a bull hauling off a clothesline with some of the clothes caught on its horn was too humorous. My husband, however got a laugh out of it every time he thought about it. Here's a poem I wrote for him.
              
    

AUNT B'S BLOOMERS　
That bull of ol' Tom Clancy
done tore my clothesline down.
It gored my pair a bloomers;
then took off straight fer town.
It headed straight fer town, it did.
My bloomers waved goodbye.
I called yer Uncle Henry out
and thought that I would cry.


Well, Henry started laughin.
He thought it quite a joke-
my bloomers waving back at him-
I thought the man’d croke.
Well, I didn't think it funny much....
my drawers on some bulls head....
but I ended up by crackin up
when I heard what Henry said:

"When I sees yer bright red bloomers
a flappin’ in the breeze,
it set m’ mind t’ thinkin’ thoughts
about them birds and bees.
And them birds wuz all a twitter,
and the bees wuz all a buzz;
and they wuz all a jokin’
bout them bloomers,yes they wuz.
And them birds and bees was laughin’
when them critters sez t’ me,
there’ no one gonna get
into her bloomers, no siree!"

　　　　　　　Bette Wolf Duncan ©2001

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