And Now, Bad Poetry

I was cutting hay last summer,
Starting to go insane
From trying to beat the storm clouds
And getting My, My, My Poker Face out of my brain.

When I caught a glimpse of something
From the corner of my eye,
I had to do a double-take:
It was a bird that could not fly.

No, not an owl with a busted wing,
Or a lark run down while day-dreaming,
But an emu, yes, an emu,
And I instantly started scheming.

I'd catch that feral flightless bird
We'd have a unique pet
I'd take it for long walks on Sundays
And teach it to fetch and set.

So, I chased it with a 4-wheeler,
But it refused to be caught
It would not go into the corral
It occurred to me, "Emu's are dumber than I thought."

The emu?  Well, it disappeared.
It bested me in battle,
But then it showed up two months later
Living happily amongst our cattle.

This time I tried a new approach
I flanked it with my car
And Regina ran behind it
To ensure it couldn't go far.

Captured!  I put it in a trailer;
It loaded a lot easier than I thought
And I drove it to our house
Hoping I wouldn't get caught

For emu-rustling, is that a crime?
Could I go to the clink?
I started having second thoughts
Besides, what do emus eat and drink?

But I couldn't let it loose again,
I felt bad for the wing-ed freak,
And my kids think it is such great fun
To have a pet with a giant beak.

If you've never been up close and personal
To a prehistoric beast
Come by our house, but time's running out

The emu's center of our Thanksgiving feast.