I grabbed my irrigation boots and set out for the creek. But I couldn’t find the
water ‘cuz the willows were too thick.
I’d never seen so many shrubs with bark so green and slick. Enough for a million
naughty boys to cut their whipping stick.
At first, I thought of burning but I’d burn the forest down. They’d throw me in the
slammer. Call me “Willow Pyro Clown.”
I set my mind to thinking. It’s a dangerous thing to do. My wife said, “Call the
county agent. He will see it through.”
I have to give her credit. She has witnessed all my schemes. ‘Cuz half the time
my good intentions come from boyish dreams.
I phoned the county agent. Didn’t hear a word he said. My brain contrived a fool
proof plan, just stuck there in my head.
Our Massey 1190 was my workhorse master plan. I’d pull the clumps of willows.
Didn’t need no middleman.
So, I rummaged through the tool shed, found a cable long enough. Then looped it
‘round the willows. Thought, “This job won’t be that tough.”
I chained the cable to the tractor. Now it’s do or die. Then, hopped up on my
Massey, promptly shifted into high.
It only took a second till I reached the cable end. When my thick head snapped to
forward, but my neck froze to a bend.
I wondered could this be another one of my mistakes. ‘Cuz my Massey tractor
slammed to stop. I hadn’t hit the brakes.
So my good wife asked, “You’ve stopped and left your foolproof plan alone? I
sighed then said, “Please get the county agent on the phone.”
Well, my neck brace fits me nicely, just a bit of minor pain. But my eyes are
seeing double. Must have jarred my nimble brain.