When workin’ a ranch up near Waco
I met a cow dog name of Bo—
the ugliest dog on the mesa
puttin’ fear in each critter too slow

He nipped, an’ he barked, an’ he raised hell,
dodgin’ this way ‘n that with quick speed,
stayin’ outta the way of a longhorn,
or the hooves of a mean rearin’ steed

You could tell that mutt weren’t a young’n
from scars he wore with great pride;
one ear was limp an’ lopsided,
an’ long hairless marks striped his sides

His good eye was straight—starin’ forward,
but the other was lookin’ due east—
I can’t say it got in his way tho’,
or bothered that hound in the least

One paw was missin’ some toenails,
an’ another was crippled ‘n flat,
but he never slowed down from cow herdin’,
or become sidelined ‘cause a that

That dog’s tail, well, it was plum’ awful—
it was bent in the strangest of ways—
lookin’ just like it went thru’ a ringer,
or was trampled by too many strays

His gray spotted coat was all mangy,
an’ I figure it carried some fleas,
but he sure didn’t shirk from his duties,
‘cause his master he wanted to please

I wish I could buy that ol’ mongrel,
though ugly is his middle name—
his owner won’t sell him, I reckon,
an’ I sure don’t fault him no blame.

‘Cause ol’ Bo has muscles an’ sinew,
nerves that are made of true steel—
no matter what job he’s doin’,
you can bet, it won’t break his will.  

That cow dog done taught me a lesson
‘bout people who don’t look quite right—
inside they just might be real differ’nt,
now I’ll see ‘em in a much better light.

                  
 Tamara Hillman
©2006