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Subject: Cowboy Poetry rss

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¡dn ʇǝƃ ʇ,uɐɔ ı puɐ uǝllɐɟ ǝʌ,ı
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Chestermere
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Life lesson: Hamsters are NOT diswasher safe.
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Do you have a computer full of old text files? Ever look through them?

I did that over this past lunch hour and discovered that I had written some Cowboy Poetry, that I had completely forgotten about.
The challenge was to use the words "varmint", "rattler", and "chili" and work them into a western-themed bit of verse.

This is what I came up with (there is a cadence to the phrasing, if you can hook onto to it):

I shot at the varmint who’d stolen my beans; he ditched me and then rode away.
I saddled up Patches and galloped on after; I swore that I’d catch him that day.
But the sun was a-sinkin’ and I began thinkin’ that I just might have lost him, but then
A voice to the west, by its tone quite distressed; I followed that into a glen.

There lay the thief, his face full of grief, his horse was on the ground too.
I swiftly dismounted, and quickly accounted the scene that had played—for I knew
By the blood on the fetlock I saw what had happened; a rattler had struck at his steed.
It’d thrown him, of course, and the fall from his horse, had left him in medical need.

He clutched at his leg, so I cut off his chaps, and there I did see a surprise
A broken bone, yes, but I never did guess, a shapely calf greeted my eyes.
I stared into his face and in ‘mongst the grime were red pouty lips—I do swear!
I yanked off the hat and cascading down came long golden tresses of hair!

A woman! I thought; I stumbled and fumbled; reality dawning upon me.
She had to be from the old Clancy gang—the young one who called herself Julie.
I trussed up her limb, rode her back into town; I asked her to, “ex-plain herself”:
“I was making some chili, and, isn’t it silly, I had no more beans on the shelf.”

“But I’ve learned my lesson,” she admitted sincerely; I felt for her—no longer mad.
“My poor aging mother, and I’d steal for no other, was craving some chili real bad.
I should have just fed her a bacon-wrapped filet, so next time I’ll say to her, ‘Marnie—
I’ll make you some chili, but I’ll make it authentic, and insist that it will be con carne.’”
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