I almost had to deliver a calf today

Key word is almost. Let me give you some context. This is cattle country. There's not a politician who gets elected in these parts whithout bragging up how many times they delivered a calf by pulling it out of the cow with a necktie. Bill Murdoch would be a prime example. Bill was our MPP for a few hundred years, and he was a lawyer. He was also a beef farmer. To get elected again and again he downplayed the lawyer part and focussed on the many times he had to pull a calf out with his necktie. So I'm sitting on the stoop this afternoon. On the other side of the fence there's fourteen cows, and only four have had their babies. That means there's ten cows gonna pop any day. I've had a couple of beers and fired up the vape for my daily vacation, and I'm hearing all sorts of bawling and moaning and carrying on. That moaning and bawling gets under your skin after a while. Makes it hard to enjoy the vacation. I'm thinking, there's a cow giving birth and she's in distress. I gotta see if I can help out. I know this could be an ugly business. I don't have a necktie handy, so I brace myself for the possibility I may have to reach up a cow's arse, grab whatever I can get hold of, and help it into this world. I climb the fence, and wobble down to the creek in flip-flops and shorts, determined to find the source of all that bawling and moaning. Just before the bridge there's four cows and two calves lying in the shade. No bawling. No moaning. I make my way upstream. I can still hear the ruckus. It's getting louder. I'm getting closer! Finally I spot her, the source of all that bawling and moaning. She's on the other side of the creek. I almost lose my sandals on the treacherous trek over. Oh my god, what's that hanging from her hind end? Wait a minute... that's not a cow... it's a bull! There's something hanging allright; testicles! I walked a quarter mile up the creek to help a bull birth a calf? Needless to say, he didn't need any help. All that bawling and moaning was just a horny bull looking for his next target.

Strategic voting

The election smurfs have been busy as can be festooning the landscape with red and orange election signs. The blue ones we just take for granted; after all, Larry Miller is the home-boy who has actually, personally, using nothing but his bare hands and his necktie, pulled calves out of the arse end of a cow.

That's something the electorate takes seriously in these parts. Look at Bill Murdoch's career if you don't believe me.

But change is in the wind...

There are concession roads I travel these days where the red and orange signs outnumber the blue. But, given our massively dysfunctional first-past-the-post electoral system, does that mean we can unseat Big Steve?

Yes, but only if the orange guy makes a conscious decision to direct his acolytes to Kimberly Love.

Otherwise, even though the vast majority of local voters voted for someone else, Larry's off to Ottawa again.