Beethoven
Beethoven the mule is nobody’s fool
He’s big and he’s strong, and he’s smart.
His hooves are rock hard. He’s held with regard,
For his super-sized helping of heart.
That day in the rain, he broke his lead chain,
And followed us out on the hunt.
“Don’t care if they mind, won’t be left behind.”
He sneered with a guttural grunt.
The royal elk bull had his hands right full,
With several lascivious cows.
It raised up his ire if they should desire
To mate with some stud they’d arouse.
Young Casey cut loose a sensual ruse
Of sexual wails, moans, and mews.
He played his cow call and gave it his all,
Like a saxophone crying the blues.
The bull fell in love, like hands with a glove,
Then started to bugle his lust.
He fatally learned, ‘tis best to be spurned,
For a harlot you never can trust.
He dropped as night fell, down deep in a dell.
We marveled as he lay in state.
He weighed a half ton. I lowered my gun,
Amazed at his size and his weight.
It started to snow. The problem, you know,
Was getting that bull back to camp.
The snow came down hard, as slipp’ry as lard;
The cold caused my muscles to cramp.
We sawed and we hacked; we chopped and we whacked;
We cut and we cussed in the black.
The hours went by as we rendered the guy
Into quarters, a cape, and a rack.
Past midnight it took. The ground has the look
Of the scene of a violent crime.
We next had to pack the meat on the back
Of the mules for a two hour climb.
We staggered and fell. An icy cold Hell,
With aching and pain in each knee.
When we lost the trail in the fog and the hail,
I was feeling like poor Sam McGee.
I moaned, “If I die, I don’t want to fly,
Air Rescue can save on the fuel.
Let me rigor morts, bent over of sorts,
Packed out on Beethoven the mule.”
~ Wally McCall Jupiter, FL 2004 |
