Forgive me, readers, for I have impure thoughts. While standing around auction rings with too much time on my hands, I have envisioned the following:

I wonder: Would a community embrace a redneck-looking, derelict sicko with scruffy clothes and a five-day beard (not necessarily me, mind you) who showed up at the Junior Livestock Auction to buy an animal? If, just as the auctioneer was selling a lamb for a cute, pigtailed 4-H girl who was crying her eyes out at the prospect of her precious lamb being killed, the old geezer asked the question,
“How many juicy lamb chops do you reckon I can carve out of Mary’s little lamb there?” Would the town truly appreciate the old codger’s contribution to the youth of the community?

I wonder: We’ve all seen the showoff at a horse sale who stands up in his saddle and starts twirling his lariat to show how well-trained his horse is – and what a jerk he is. Haven’t you ever wished at that moment that you had a firecracker or two?

I wonder: How much would your new obnoxious neighbor, who made a killing in hedge funds, appreciate your help if you told the auctioneer at a bull sale, “Watch my neighbor on lot five, because he told me he’d sure give $100,000 for the bull?”

I wonder: What would happen if a consignor to a horse sale came into the sales ring with a walking cast on one leg, a halo with screws holding his head together, one arm in a cast raised and extended at shoulder level and the other arm tentatively holding the bridle of his riderless, wild-eyed consignment?

If the auctioneer announced that the man was only selling the renegade for health reasons (his own, no doubt), would anyone believe the auctioneer if he said the bronc was a kid’s horse?

I wonder: At a fast-paced bull sale where an animal was selling every 30 seconds and the only commentary was a rapid listing of the bull’s pedigree and EPDs, would the auctioneer, the sale manager or the livestock extension specialist stop and give a short seminar if a no-volume buyer asked, “What’s an EPD?”

I wonder: Have you ever been to one of those rollover auctions where an item is sold over and over and donated back to raise funds for a good cause?

What would happen if you were the first buyer and refused to donate the item back?

I wonder: If, just as your worthless, grass-stealing, no-account neighbor’s bred cows entered the auction ring, you got up and announced to the buyers present, “These are my neighbor’s cows and I hope you’ll bid them up so that next year he can afford to worm, vaccinate and use better bulls than the Jersey/Watusi crossbred bulls that bred these toothless suckers?” Would your neighbor appreciate your testimonial?

I wonder:  Let’s just pretend that you are at the auction and are trying to put together some stock cows or a good set of grass cattle. And suppose that when a perfectly healthy, structurally-correct pen of cattle entered the ring, you stopped the sale to ask the auctioneer if the winning bidder could sort the one obvious cripple off, as buyers often do – knowing full well, of course, that there were no cripples in the bunch.

I wonder if the auctioneer and ring crew, not wanting to display their ignorance, would sort one perfectly good animal off the bunch anyway? And would the buyers then pay significantly less for the phantom cripple?

I wonder: You know how it is frequently announced at a bull sale that they are only selling half-interest in a bull? Would the breeder and auctioneer appreciate your humor if you stopped the sale to inquire, “Which half are you selling, because I’m mostly interested in the back half?”

I wonder: Do I have such thoughts because I have a fertile imagination, or was my brain deprived of oxygen at some point?
I also wonder – if you are in any way tempted to try one or two of these ideas, does that mean you need therapy, too?

Readers with questions or comments for Lee Pitts may write to him in care of this publication.