A family of four decides city life doesn’t suit their style anymore So they sell their house in the suburbs and buy a dairy-cow ranch. After a week or so, the dad and 2
sons are out mending the fences, when their neighbor comes driving up the road and stops to introduce himself.
“How y’all doin? The name’s Al, friends call me Big Al. Are you folks new to the trials and tribulations of ranching?”
The father said yes, and the pleasantries continued until Big Al asked if the family ranch had a name.
“Well,” said the father, “I wanted to name it “The Flying Q”, the wife suggested “The Lazy A”, my older son Gary was partial to “The BAR-J”, and the younger one Steve liked
“The Pistol T.” So we had a family compromise and named the ranch “The Flying Q Lazy A BAR-J Pistol T Family Ranch.”
“That’s quite a mouthful,” says Big Al. “But where’s all your cattle?”
“Well,” said the father, “so far, none have survived the branding.”