Bull Opens Day Spa, Offers Mud Baths and Anger Management for Overworked Cattle
Ma checked in for the hoof massage,
Pa growled, “This here’s bovine mirage.”
Lou wore cucumbers on each eye,
Granny soaked till the mud ran dry.
Bull bowed low in silky robe,
“Release your rage, embrace the globe.”
Massage chairs made from stacked hay bales,
And cowbells rang for herbal ales.
Heifers hummed in spa-day trance,
As steers slow-danced in moo romance.
“Breathe in,” said Bull, “then grunt it out,
Kick that trauma, moo and shout!”
The preacher sobbed in steam-room sin,
While Pig applied a pumpkin grin.
Now cattle book with rural glee,
And city folks pay a bovine fee.
Bull just smiles with zen-like charm,
As rage melts down in his mud-wrapped barn.
Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)