The Race

Among farmers, ranchers and other folks who make their living in the great outdoors, there seems to be a universal ethic of early rising. There’s just nothing worse than being caught in bed past gettin’ up time.

A stupid trick stayin’ up ’til three, 

watchin’ rerun shows on that dang TV.

You open your eyes. The sun is high. 

You oughta get up. You don’t even try.

You glance at the clock—twenty five ’til eight. 

Need to be on your feet, but you’ll just wait.

Sure feels good layin’ in bed. 

Your pillow cradles your sleepy head.

And this nice firm mattress feels so great,

then, your neighbor’s truck comes 

through the gate.

Dang the luck! You’ve done been caught

layin’ in bed with the day half shot.

A foggy mind gains lightnin’ speed. 

Gotta grab a plan to fill your need.

You sit straight up, give the covers a fling.

You pivot around, and up you spring.

Just jump in your jeans fast as you can,

a life and death race with the neighbor man.

T’ hell with your socks, just find a boot.

Once they’re both on, away you scoot.

Cram on your hat, hide uncombed hair.

Your neighbor’s knockin’ fills the air.

With cat-like grace, across the floor, 

a silent race for your back door.

Make nary a sound, not even a grunt. 

Can’t let him hear you, up at the front.

You tread as soft as a barefoot mouse,

down to the barn, away from the house.

Once safe at the barn, you holler out 

in a good strong voice and a friendly shout.

“Sorry, John, didn’t hear your truck. 

I was here at the barn, unsaddlin’ Buck.”

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.