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