The last raid on his ranch by the Milk Crate Gang left one of Sam Underhauser’s cows dead. That was okay in Sam’s mind, though; he’d killed two of the “plastic sumbitches” as he called them, so he figured he’d come out ahead.
Sam could’ve buried them in the back with the rest, as he’d done every time he’d managed to take a plastic sumbitch down over the years, but he didn’t. Sam had decided he’d had quite enough of their dairy crate tomfoolery, and he wasn’t gonna leave a single damn doubt in their mind what their fate would be if they decided to try this shit again.
They always came through the front gate, straight up the driveway. Sam figured this was because having an empty milk crate for a head didn’t leave much room for creative strategic thinking. Maybe they were just stubborn. In any case, the warning would be clear next time they came riding in on their white and blue scooters.
Sam cut the heads clean off the two dead sumbitches and strung them on the chain at the end of his driveway. Let ‘em have no doubt: Sam’s cows were for beef, and if they came trying to milk his girls again, he’d bury them in the back and use their heads as coffins.