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It arched across the cloudless sky like someone throwin' chum
But they weren't fishin', no my friends, the object was a thumb
It launched from Kenneth's dally when his heelin' rope came tight
And whizzed by Eddie's horse's head and disappeared from sight.
Eddie did a double take... hors d'oeuvres flashed through his mind,
A little sausage on a stick that looked like Frankenstein.
"Are you okay?" he asked, when Kenneth finally took a breath
His ropin' glove was crimson red, his face was white as death.
"Yeah, help me find my thumb," he said. "I better go, I think."
"You go," said Ed, "I'll bring it when we've found the missing link."
The next day Eddie got a call from Kenneth's lawyer friend.
"A suit," he said, "for negligence is what I recommend."
Well, Eddie was surprised a bit, "We packed his thumb in ice.
We emptied out the beer and pop, a real sacrifice
And put it in the cooler, then we rushed it straight on down
I even got a ticket speedin' comin' into town.
I've had some past experience. It's happened here before."
"Well, we'll concede," the lawyer said, "your service was top drawer.
The packing job was excellent, but in the final sum
In spite of all you did for Ken, you brung us the wrong thumb."
Baxter Black is a cowboy poet, former large-animal veterinarian and entertainer of the agricultural masses. Learn more at www.baxterblack.com