Bull Becomes Town Therapist, Charges in Belly Scratches

They called him Doc Horn, calm and wide,
With eyes that knew where pain might hide.
Ma lay down her apron woes,
While Pa confessed his tractor throes.
Lou just needed schoolyard balm,
And Granny came to find her calm.
The preacher sighed, “Even I break,”
Then wept into a salted cake.
Doc Horn just snorted, slow and wise,
Then nudged each soul with deep brown eyes.
No words, no fees, just fur and breath,
That snorted peace and dodged all death.
Each belly rub a healing rite,
He fixed the rage and made it right.
So now we kneel by bovine flank,
For scratch-based care and mindful thank.

Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)

Last Updated on February 10, 2026 by Alan Nafzger

By Alan Nafzger

Professor Alan Nafzger is the publisher of Farm.FM, writing from Wichita Falls, Texas. He earned his Ph.D. in political science with a focus on rural policy and agricultural economics, a master's degree in public administration emphasizing rural development, and a bachelor's degree in political science. Over a dual career spanning 57 years, he has taught rural policy, agricultural economics, and county administration while managing a family operation that includes farming, ranching, and dairy. The classroom and the farmstead keep each other honest: he writes about the policies he has studied and the cattle, crops, and milk checks he has actually had to live with.

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