About This Blog

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I have loved things Country and Western all of my life. I have loved the ranches and farms. the fields, the barns, livestock, and the food. I was born and raised in Kentucky where I learned to love and appreciate the beauty, hard work, and value of country living, Most of my family lived on farms and/or were livestock producers. I have raised various livestock and poultry over the years. I have sold livestock feed and minerals in two states. My big hats and boots are only an outward manifestation of the country life I hold dear to my heart. With the help of rhyme or short story, in recipes or photos, I make an effort in this blog to put into words my day to day observations of all things rural; the things that I see and hear, from under my hat. All poems and short stories, unless noted otherwise, are authored by me. I hope you enjoy following along.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

The End of Old Ben



Jack rode his horse down to the creek
To get himself and his mount a drink.
While sipping from his hand
And scanning the land,
He noticed a cowboy on the opposite bank.

On bended knee with his hat on his arm
The old cowboy stared at  fresh dirt.
Jack decided to ride
To the other side
And see if the old man was hurt.

“You ok friend?” Jack quietly asked,
The old cowboy just sadly smiled.
‘We’ve come to trails end,
Me and my old friend.
We’ve been together awhile.’

The old mans mustache was gray,
And his skin was leathery brown.
There were a whole lot of years
 Bound in the couple of tears
That from his eyes had trickled down.

‘Old Ben was one heck of dog.
Faithful as any mans friend.
He’d run along side
While I would ride
To the cows and back again.’

‘He was smart and strong in every way,
And he loved me and my wife.
He took on a bear
In that canyon over there,
And it’s sure he saved my life.’

‘He was old like me and feelin' poor,
But he stayed with me all the way.
He growled and he chewed
In that fur-flyin’ feud
Until the big bear loped away.’

'But one blow had opened him wide
And he fell down when that bear run.
Red colored the ground,
He never made a sound.
My old Ben was done.

'I’ve buried him near this creek you see.
Where he loved to drink and swim.
Now, I must go tell this tale
To my good wife as well.
Yeah.... we’re gonna miss him.'

As the old man mounted his horse,
"I''m sorry" was all Jack could say.
He shook the gloved hand,
Dotted with blood and sand.
Then, alone, the old man rode away.

Kevin L. Dennie       8/2012

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