My wife and family and I live on the Lazy T Ranch near Manhattan, Kansas. We run cattle and horses and some other animals. If you have livestock in the hot summer heat, then you're going to have flies.
We contend with flies. This poem I wrote is called Fly Right.
Three cowboys from different places came into a Texas saloon for a drink to relieve their hot afternoon.
The flies were buzzing from near and from far as the three cowboys took their place at the bar.
Each ordered a drink as they had planned, but into each drink, a fly did land.
The first cowboy turned green at the bug in his drink.
To the bartender, he said, "I'll have a different one, I think."
The second cowboy stopped, suddenly fished out the bug and finally drank the beer with a shrug. The third cowboy was from Kansas where times were tough and he wasn't about to put up with this stuff.
He knew this behavior just had to stop because he came from Kansas where we don't waste a drop. The cowboy grabbed the bug and with a big shout, held it over the glass and said, "Now you spit that out."
That'd be true.
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