Old Jebediah and Earl, two ranchers whose beards were longer than their list of remaining teeth, were staring into the dusty corral. Their prized bull, Bartholomew, had mysteriously vanished.
“Dagnabbit, Earl!” Jebediah exclaimed, spitting a wad of tobacco juice into the dust. “That Bartholomew was the best darn bull this side of the Mississippi! How’d he just up and disappear?”
Earl scratched his head, dislodging a small bird’s nest from his hat. “Beats me, Jeb. Fences are all secure. No signs of forced entry. Maybe he sprouted wings and flew off to Buenos Aires.”
They searched high and low, hollering Bartholomew’s name until their voices were hoarse. Finally, as the sun began to set, they heard a faint “Moo.” They followed the sound, which led them to a small, overgrown irrigation ditch.
Peering down, they saw Bartholomew, stuck fast. But he wasn’t alone. Cuddled up next to him was a tiny, fluffy white poodle, wearing a ridiculously oversized cowboy hat.
“Well, I’ll be hornswoggled,” Jebediah muttered, scratching his own beard in disbelief.
Earl nudged him. “Think that’s Bartholomew’s… friend?”
With a mighty heave, they managed to haul Bartholomew out of the ditch. The poodle, seemingly unfazed, trotted after him, yapping excitedly.
Jebediah looked at Earl, then back at the odd couple. “Earl, remind me again. What breed of bull were we tryin’ to get Bartholomew to, uh, service?”
Earl squinted, chewing on a piece of straw. “Angus, I believe. Real fine Angus heifers.”
Jebediah sighed. “Well, looks like we got ourselves a real Angus-xiety now. Old ranchers, new bull…and apparently, terrible taste in romance.”
