I’m not easy irritated,
but that’s kinda how I get
when someone refers to my cowdog
and calls my dog a pet.
Okay, I sometimes pet ’im,
but that’s just extra pay
to go with the cup of dog chow
that I feed ’im every day.
I’ll tell you it’s not easy
to live off cows and land,
and most times there’s no money
to hire an extra hand.
So, I’ve got an economy cowboy
to help out on the place.
He don’t demand high wages,
and he don’t take much space.
He gets on good with the horses,
and he don’t watch the clock.
He don’t tear up equipment,
and he’s handy with the stock.
He stays right in there all day long.
He’ll go hour after hour.
He cools off in the stock pond,
and he never wants a shower.
He’ll do ’bout what I tell ’im,
if I make ’im understand,
and I never do hear back talk
when I give him a command.
When it’s time for workin’ cows,
I sure won’t find him sittin’,
and never do I worry ’bout
him gettin’ mad and quittin’.
Every time I saddle up,
he’s down there by my side,
and he’s down there just hoofin’
while I sit up and ride.
When the cows are scattered
and the brush is awful thick,
he gets those cows a movin’,
and he does it purty quick.
He doesn’t always smell too good,
especially when he’s wet,
but you’ll never catch him stoppin’
to smoke a cigarette.
He sure gets mighty happy
when I scratch his ears—you bet!
But when you talk about my cowdog,
don’t call my dog a pet.
Editor’s note: Joe Kreger writes from his home in Tonkawa, Oklahoma. His CDs are available from the Journal by calling 1-800-954-5263. For personal appearance information, call 1-816-550-6549.
