It’s the Pitts: Her Royal Highness
Once upon a time in a fairy tale alternate universe, the grand champion of the Royal Cattle Show was proclaimed the “Queen of the Cattle Kingdom.”
The distinguished panel of university professors admired her royal blood and her frame score nine.
Her Royal Highness looked down her nose at all of the other heifers because she stood six feet tall at the shoulder with enough room underneath her to drive an ATV between her front and rear legs. She was bred in the purple and had a ribbon to prove it.
Trumpets blared as the queen was paraded before the commoners with her grand champion sash and wearing the latest hairstyle. All of the other heifers wanted to be just like her, and length of leg became the latest fashion throughout the land.
Stories were written in all of the heifer magazines about the latest affairs of the Royal Family.
The court servants were at the beck and call of Her Royal Highness to fluff up her straw and clean up after her. The queen was so big, it took two stable boys to lift the royal manure scoop.
Then by royal decree, the word had been sent far and wide throughout the kingdom the queen was going to forgo any more forays in the show ring and settle down to get pregnant and give birth to an heir to the throne.
The Queen of the Cattle Kingdom was unceremoniously dumped into a field with commoners. She was not used to such decidedly unroyal treatment, and she demanded special handling from the court cowboys.
They had to bring specially-prepared feed and supplements to her throne, and she was not used to drinking out of the same dirty water troughs as her loyal subjects did.
The full figure of Her Royal Highness caused many problems for the court cowboys. They required bigger horses, wider squeeze chutes, more courageous dogs, stronger wives, heavier ropes, taller panels and higher boots to wade through the corrals of the queen’s corral.
The kingdom was ecstatic upon hearing the news the queen had been royally impregnated, but their excitement quickly subsided when the news reached all the smutty cow rags it would be a difficult pregnancy.
The queen had not adjusted well to life amongst the commoners. Paparazzi photos revealed her emaciated appearance.
The kingdom was shocked as the queen tried in vain to give birth to the next heir to the throne. The court veterinarians saved the queen, but alas, the 145-pound boy king died at birth after a Caesarean section – ironically named after Julius Caesar.
The kingdom grew impatient waiting for the queen to bear a successor, but each time the Royal Vet palpated her, the news was the same – open.
Her failure to conceive caused a royal scandal throughout the kingdom. Perhaps there was some bad blood mixed in with the blue blood after all. The scandal sheets began looking into the sordid past of the queen.
Alas, the queen was dethroned for failing to conceive. Like some other queens before her, she was beheaded at the royal slaughterhouse, and a new Queen of the Cattle Kingdom was crowned by the distinguished professors. Long live the Queen!
And everyone lived happily ever after, at least according to the fairy tale. Not so the commoners who were stuck with 1,700-pound cows unable to conceive.
