Bryce Angell is a cowboy poet. Angell was raised on a farm/ranch in the St. Anthony, Idaho area with approximately 75 head of horses. Horses remain an important part of Angell’s life.

Angell shares his poetry with Cache Valley Daily every Friday.

I sat there in my easy chair.  Then stirred the pine log coals.  I’d tried to sleep but sleep was scarce as toilet paper rolls.    

So, I polished off the second can of diet soda pop, as Mother Nature made her call.  She’s got me on the hop.

And at my age, near seventy, when you feel you’ve got the urge.  You better get a moving ‘cuz your bladder’s ‘bout to purge.  

So, I chose to step outside as use the bathroom up the stairs.  There weren’t a soul to see me. So, I thought, “Who really cares.”

I glanced at our thermometer, read twenty-two degrees.  ‘Twas more than just a hint of fall.  A biting northern breeze.  

While taking care of business came a most familiar sound.  A herd of elk were grazing.  Hooves were pounding out the ground.

I could almost see their outline, while they grazed out on the flat.  But frankly it was darker than the inside of a cat.

When all at once the old bull elk shot out a scream at me.  Good thing my bladder emptied.  Would have scared it out of me.

The old bull’s harem came a running, passed me in the dark.  He prob’ly took a head count then he sounded out a bark.  

I thought I’d try my luck and yelled a guttural bark at him.  I figured chance of answering me was prob’y mighty slim.  

He didn’t disappoint me when he yelled an answer back.  I wondered did he think this guy just might be talking smack?

We went back and forth for minutes.  We were talking, in a way.  Or was it just plain noise? It seemed he had a bunch to say.

Then I listened as they trotted off way back into the night.  Did he tell his wives he scared me?  If he did, he sure was right.



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