As the only local cow vet, Steve had calved a lot of heifers
And as such was most reluctant to keep score
‘Cause no matter how he tried and tried, he couldn’t save them all
So on the side he opened up a taxidermy store.

"Stuff yer heifer," was his motto, it was on his business cards.
And the message he recorded on the phone
Said, "If I can’t save her, you can! As a conversation piece.
Have her mounted or just standing there alone."

He stuffed them in positions that he thought might catch the eye
One leg upraised her milking on a tire
Or rearing up like Trigger, or with X’s on her eyes
Surrounded by a priest and candles waiting to expire.

There were action poses in the stance of how she last appeared
Like on her back, a huge midline incision
Or standing with the calf half out, a breech, the hind legs showing
That looked like some real bad rear end collision.

Or head down in the charging mode, about to mow you down,
The water bag a timeless counterweight.
Or half a mount, just the backside, with your OB chains protruding
As you last saw her going out the gate.

His taxidermal specialty was a big C-Section scar
The perfect touch to make the scene complete
Like his come-along calf puller with a bow in the pipe
Or glassy-eyed, a log chain ‘round her feet.

The market for his HEIFERS-IN-DISTRESS grew leaps and bounds,
His cuddly cows kept flying out the doors.
People put them on the mantle, people placed them on the lawn
Like pink flamingos grazing on all fours.

Until, alas, some thought they saw conflict going on
‘tween his clinic and his taxidermy shop.
"These charges pain me deeply," he told his vet technician,
"My reputations’s always been the top.

"What makes them think I’d compromise my veterinary work
To make a little money on the side?"
"Well, they might be misinterpreting your heifer calving price," she said.
"Not many charge five dollars and the hide."