“Mabel, Mabel I don’t mean to grouse.”
Farmer Joe called as he tromped into the house
“I’m facing a dilemma, I’m facing a battle,
Because I can’t accurately count all me cattle.”
“What do you mean, you crazy old coot?”
Mabel asked while preserving some fruit.
“I count up the cows, there should be one ninety six.
But two hundred I get, who’s playing these tricks?”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Mabel conceded
“Perhaps a recount is really what’s needed?”
“I’ve counted them more times than I care to admit,
Yet two hundred head is the number I do submit.”
“How are you counting them to get such a number?”
Mable asked Joe without the hint of a cumber.
“I bring them in from the paddock, up to the yard.
Pen them inside the fence, behind the gate that is barred.
I then stand on the crush and count all their heads
The whole herd together, next to the hay shed.”
“I see your problem.” The words came from Mabel’s lips
“Why you get two hundred when you should get one ninety six
It’s not tricks you are seeing my little buttercup
The problem arises because you are rounding them up!”