“We were a-doin’ okay ’til Dewey showed up,” said Steve, behind the sale barn.
Doc and Bert were there to watch the Saturday sale.
“Dewey?” asked Doc.
There’s a world of intrigue around here in the pronunciation of those two syllables, although we all love Dewey Decker and wish him well. But when he shows up in his truck, disaster is usually riding shotgun.
“I was helping out with the branding over at the Diamond D,” Steve said, twitching his oversized moustache. “We were about halfway done when we saw the dust of the pickup coming along the road.”
Doc said, “Dewey’s helped out at brandings before this, hasn’t he?”
“Sure,” said Steve. “The last time, he inoculated ol’ Dud for blackleg. ‘Course, Dud hasn’t had blackleg since then, so there you go. Well, you know the problem with Dewey. It’s finding him something to do where he can’t hurt himself, livestock, property, other people, or the federal government. Bob said maybe Dewey could take pictures, but it wasn’t to be …”
“Not good,” said Bert.
“Nope. Ol’ Doo stepped out of the truck with a brand-new nylon catch rope and said he was there to heel the calves and drag them to the fire for us.”
“But that’s usually the boss’s job,” Doc said. Most of us know the corral protocols.
“I know, but ol’ Bob had this gentle horse, and you know how hard it is to say no to Dewey, so he let him. Now Dewey’d been practicing roping buckets and dogs and stuff, so he shook out a loop and …”
“I don’t want to hear this …” said Doc.
“…dabbed it over the head of this 400-pound calf and that calf ran around behind the horse and the rope went under the horse’s tail …”
“Oh no …”
“And the calf ran over Bob and Bob hit me on his way down and I went backwards into the water trough.
Dewey got halfway bucked off before we got the rope loose.”
Steve shook his head. “Then ol’ Bob got up slowly, looked at Dewey and said, ‘Son, you are now our official photographer.'”
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