|I wrote this myself one late stormy/rainy July night strolling
through TN trying to keep awake to make sure my load got where it needed
Thought you might want to post it on your site. It's hit home with a
lot of my fellow bull-buddies and their wives.
Bullhaulerís Blues by Jessica Loree
I open my eyes, and
I look around, a diesel engine, the only sound.
Alone in my bunk, my feet cold on the floor, I lean up front, and look
out the door. I grab for my notes, all tattered and
torn, and go out side, as this new day is born.
I walk to the
office, where the coffee is hot, and point to my Pete, way out in the
lot. A fresh blanket of snow, had fallen last night,
and loading my cows, Iím in for a fight. I circle
around with the chute in my mirror, and think to myself, I wonder why
Iím here. I put on my boots, my carhartt, my gloves,
as I walk down that ramp, a silent prayer sent above.
I pray for my
family, my kids, and my wife. The pain they must go
through, a bull-haulerís life. The cows they are
grouchy, they donít like the cold, I cuss to the shadows, itís tough
getting old. They kick and they snort, they turn and
they run. A yell from behind me, ďGet out!
Before I could move,
the cows, they all came, and when I woke up, Iíd forgotten my name.
With a cast on my arm, a bandage on my head, the doc even said,
ďyouíre lucky you arenít dead!Ē With orders to rest,
I was told to go home, but I gave him my word, and I wonít go alone.
So back to the snow,
the cold, and the muck, Oh where did they put it? Oh
Shit! Whereís my truck? Oh hell,
there it is, parked out in the back, I about passed out, from the panic
attack. She might not be much, but sheís all that
Iíve got, and over the years, weíve sure seen a lot.
So once again, to
the chute, I must go, with the pain and the cold, Iím moving so slow.
I feel like a rookie, like I donít know my job, a bloody shirt
and torn pants, I feel like a slob. I pause down the
ramp, and I close my sore eyes, I think about things, this job, my
demise. My family has stood there, through thick and
through thin, and I almost lost all, and never saw them again.
But what would I do,
without my old Pete? My hand on the gear shift, my
butt on the seat. I could start a new life, new job,
new career. But you know Iíd end up, with my ass
right back here. It gets in your blood, it consumes
your whole life, and when you give up, it cuts your heart like a knife.
I finally get Ďem
loaded, and drop down my gate, in the dogbox muddy clothes, for my
paperwork, I wait. The vet never saw them, he told a
white lie, but he signed all my papers, and told me goodbye.
I start my old truck, and we go down the road, I look at my
gauges, how heavy IS this load? I dig up the papers,
the numbers, arenít right, I look at the clock, itís gonna be a long
night! I grab for my map, and plan a new way, I know
all these new miles, put a bite in my pay.
Iíll be there
tomorrow, if I donít take a shower, I reach for my Skoal, and count down
the hours. I call home to my wife, but some things I
donít say. I tell her I love her, and which bills
she canít pay. I promise to work harder, and be a
better provider. She tells me she loves me, she
knows Iím a fighter. I hung up my phone, and locked
in my cruise, and I thought to myself, these are the Bull-Hauler
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