Posted by mlajoie2 on 23 August, 2008 at 9:10 am. 5 comments already!


“Now let me get this straight,” the chief cowhand, Joe Voter, said, looking up to Barry sitting on the horse. “Now, I know you come pretty highly recommended on this paper, but you want to be trail boss of this whole drive and you have no experience? Why didn’t you say that up front?”

Barry shifted uneasily in the saddle. “Well, you didn’t ask. Besides, I feel very confident I can do it, between me and my Chicago posse here.”

“Are you sure you’ve even ridden a horse before? I’m letting you sit in my saddle but you look a little…”

“Bull! I wrecking I’ve ridden a bull!”

“You wrecking…And your name is “Saddleback Barry” Barack Soetero Obama?”

“Always has been, ever since the day I was born.”

“You were always called ‘Saddleback’?”

“That’s what my staff…or, my posse, tells me.”

“Oh…OK. Well, what kind of experience do you have with herds?”

“Oh! Well! I’ve HEARD all kinds of things, especially as a lawyer in Chicago, in the few cases I was in…wow, did I hear…”

“No! No! Not hearing…”

“What was that you said?”

“Not hearing!”



“Hurting? No, no injuries whatsoever of any kind, I am not hurt at all.”

“NOOOO! Not ‘hurting’, ‘herding’, as in herding animals!”

“Oh, that’s right, that’s what this job is, right?”


“Wait!” Barry giggled nervously, “Let me consult my posse, here.”

Barry whispered furiously with his posse.

“OK, I did have experience in Chicago herding cats…”

“NO! NO!” the posse whispered furiously and spoke in Barry’s ear.

“Ha, Ha, I misspoke, uh, because my gang, or, my posse told me the, uh, wrong thing. What I meant to say is, and what I’ve consistently said, is I’ve herded DOGGIES.”

“Dogies! Dogies!” whispered the posse.

“Doughgees…” said Barry quietly.

“Did you just say ‘doggies’?” asked the chief cowhand.

“Doughgees, of course,” replied Barry, matter-of-factly.

“I could have sworn…”

“You must have misunderstood,” Barry said with a deep smile.

“So, you’ve herded dogies, have you?” said the cowhand, suspiciously.

“Oh, yes, I lived near cattle in Indonesia…”

“What’s your approach to rustlers?”

“Rustlers?” said Barry blankly.

“You know, if they tried to steal some of the cattle, how would you handle it?”

“Well, I wrecking I’d have to sit down and have a talk with them.”

“Talk? What would you say?” asked the cowhand.

“I’d say, maybe they shouldn’t be stealing cattle, that’s what I’d say!” cried Barry.

“Do you mean you’d set some conditions, say how the sheriff is backing you up, threaten to get a warrant, set guards, or…”

“Oh, yeah, all of that stuff. I’ve always said that. And I’d attack the Pakistan ranch.”

“The Pakistan ranch? They’re working with us on the drive! I’ve got some suspicions about them getting a little action on the side but…”

“I heard some of your cowmen say some cow-stealers are there,” said Barry earnestly.

The chief cowhand stood with his mouth open for a while. “Listen, I have one last question. Please describe to me your philosophy of keeping track of the different breeds on the drive and how would you approach branding.”

“Listen, buddy, I don’t want anything to do with breeding and cows. I’m sure they know how to do that themselves. That’s WAY above my pay grade as trail boss. But you should hire ME because I’ve HEARD of all the great ways to move doughgees together without HURTING any of them. And I HOPE you know, I CHANGE my clothes often so I will not be stinky to my fellow cowhands. And I know how to work well with all of them and to bring all the different kinds of cows together. Branding is prejudice and I would treat all the cows equally. Thank you.”

“You are unbelievable,” muttered the chief cowhand in disbelief.

“Thank you very much!” cried Barry enthusiastically.

“How DID you get this far.”

“I came by bull. By the way, wouldn’t you want to know who my assistant trail boss would be?” said Barry, coyly.

“No, but go ahead,” the discouraged cowhand replied.

“I’m not going to tell you yet,” teased Barry.

“Why not?” inquired the cowhand.

“I’m just BIDEN my time,” Barry chuckled.

The chief cowhand turned to an older cowboy standing nearby. “Hey, Mac, I know I said you might be too old to lead this drive this time. I bought what some of the Libby cowboys were telling me about this guy and I admit now I was wrong. At least, you know what you’re doing and you got plenty energy enough.”

The cowhand turned to Barry and said, “And you, you got no paperwork showing what in tarnation you did in Chicago and I don’t care. Get out of here.”

“Humph! You don’t know what you’re missing. You’re all so BITTER around here with all your guns. I didn’t want to stay here anyway. The price of arugula is too high. If you’re not smart enough to know who I am destined to be, it’s your loss. Humph!” Barry said, turning away.

“Wait! Come back here!” said the cowhand.

“Oh! You want me after all?” said Barry, expectantly.

“No, Saddleback Barack,” he said, “I want my saddle back.”

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