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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Comedy · #2312866
Dancing cows like none you've ever seen before!

“What by St Booger’s saints is wrong with them cows?”

“You tell me,” the little man answered.

He stood with his wife looking over their unpainted fence. 150 head of long-horned beef cattle were spread along the tranquil pasture before them. All but 22 were silently grazing. The ones that weren’t, were dancing. Some on their front legs, others were mainly using their hind legs, and some were trading off front and back.

“They dancin’?”

“I don’t know what else you’d call it,” the rancher said. His name was Tommy Troy, but everyone calls him “Bugs.”

“Well, I’ll be…” the woman said. Her name was Lucie Troy. She was about 6 foot two and everyone called her “Loony.” Everyone but Bugs. He called her “Mother,” which was unfortunate. Some people whose names we won’t mention started making uncharitable remarks about maybe actually the Troys were mother and son, for real. But seeing how they sleep in the one bed together, and how that would be plum unnatural and against God, all further mention was eventually put to rest by me, the Minister of Our Charitable Lord Holy Church. I made it clear any future talk of it would no longer be tolerated.

So, all that nonsense died down. We think now Loony might be Bug’s older sister. Maybe his first cousin. Who knows? What we know for a fact is they's both dyed in the wool Presbyterians. As you might imagine, we don’t talk to ‘em all that much.

We found out about their dancing cows when Andy Sykes seen em while driving past on 16, which runs right by them people. Townsfolk in these parts don’t put up with much of anything they don’t fully understand. We is no different. We jumped in our trucks, left the women behind throwing beer cans at us ‘cause they wanted to come too, but we wouldn’t hear of it. This dancing cow business reeks of the devil and no place for a female. You don’t need to be the Minister of Our Charitable Lord Holy Church to realize that!

We found both Troys standing out front of their little house, staring at the cows. Well, staring at the ones that were dancing. The others held little interest.

“Is that the Jitterbug?” Clem asked, coming out of the dust cloud the truck-convoy had brought. “I think that’s the Jitterbug!”

“Wait till you sees ‘em Tango!” Bugs said.

“No!” Clem said.

“And the Cha Cha! They do the Cha Cha too, don’t they, baby?”

“Yes, they surely do, Mother. It’s a sight to behold.”

Clem, who considered himself a bit of a Fred Astair type, said, “Even I don’t know the Cha Cha!”

“Oh, for the love of Pete Clem,” I shouted. “It’s that cows can do the Cha Cha you find amazing?”

“The Cha Cha is a very involved multi-step—”

“It’s against God!” I bellowed. “It goes against God Himself!”

“The Cha Cha?” Clem said, lifting his arms. “I mean, come on, it might be a little risqué, but—"

“This whole thing, Clem! Not just the Cha Cha. This is the devil’s work! I can feel his eyes. Can’t you feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck? I can smell his stinking breath!” I looked around. Five more trucks were coming down the long dirt track toward us. The Bennington brothers. No doubt about it. Hopefully not their wives. Sweet Jesus, not now, please no wives of the Bennington brothers!

And out popped the Bennington brothers. All six of them. And their foreign, slant-eyed wives. The brothers mail ordered ‘em out of some catalogue. They all ran to the fence. The men spoke American. The wives were all talking chink at the same time and taking pictures, beside themselves in giggly pagan wonderment.

“This is against all that is holy,” I said, using my thunderous church voice. “We got to put these cows down. They are the devil! This whole place is unholy!” I waved my arms in an all-encompassing arc. “We must burn it to the ground…”

“You’re looking at this all wrong, Jerry,” the mayor said, “These dancing cows are a gift from God.”

The Bennington brothers said, “Praise Jesus!” all at the same time.

“It’s an abomination!” I roared.

“It’s a money maker, Jerry. It’s going to put us on the map! I tell you… oh no!”

The cows were no longer dancing. They were back to being cows. They were walking like cows over to the water trough and then they were drinking like cows from all sides of the trough.

We watched them in silence. It was over. Whatever that was, it was now over. Or so we thought. No! Now the cows were coming back. Even I was happy to see it. They walked around in a circle and then paired up and Loonie called out, “Here it comes!”

The Tango.

Cheek to cheek, taking long sensuous cow steps together, going one way, then on a dime, the about-face, the turn, and the long cow steps coming back again. They all moved with grace. Their bovine heads held high. Their snouts pointed at the sky.

“Stick around for the Cha Cha,” Bugs called out as he walked Loonie back inside their little cabin.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Clem called over his shoulder.

Inside their home, the Troys peeked out the one front window at the still gathering group along the fence rails. They could see the dust of more cars and trucks coming down the long dirt driveway.

“You know something, Mr. Troy?”

“What’s that, Mother?”

“I think we could make us some money off of these here dancin’ cows…”

“You mean like sell popcorn or some such thing?”

“That’s eezackly what I mean! First thing tomorra, we got to get us a whole passel of popcorn poppers! And maybe some sody-pop!”

And with that, Troy’s Dancing Cows Extravaganza began to take shape.

--995 Words--
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