 I didn't know they served such fare out here upon the lane. Oh sure, her cowboy day reply was really quite her pain. I would guess their Chesapeake are blue points, don't you think? No ma'am, they're mostly herford crops, and usually they're pink. So black and gold, so cold myself. What you say could be true, and if a man looked close enough, their points could sure be blue. Oh, I don't want to bail on them. I plucked them from the murky depths and smashed them with a stone. The cowboy whist, imagining a calf with her beneath. Me, I use a pocket knife and yank them with my teeth. Oh my, she said. You're an animal. How crude in a reply. Your masculine assertiveness sends a shiver down my spine. But I prefer what your knife too dull to really cut. I wedged in on either side and cracked it like a nut. If they resist, sometimes I use the pliers. Or even grandpa's pruning shears, if that's what it requires. The hare stood on the cowboy's neck, his stomach did a whirl. He'd never heard such grisly talk, especially from a girl. I licked him fresh, the sweetheart said, and laid her menu down. Then ordered oysters from the lul, when the waiter came around. The cowboy smiled gainily, so her words stuck in his crop. He finally fainted dead awake when she said, I'll have my raw.