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Show THE DAY ME AND STRAWBERRY FELL Old Strawb was a fair lookin' cowhorse, Bay roan with two stockings thrown in. Maybe eight years old when I knew him, He was tall, too leggy, but trim. Don't know where it was that he came from. Don't matter much where we got him, Just a pony to stand as a chattel, Just the pawn of a horsetrader's whim. There wasn't much special about him. He was Steeldust or Morgan or both. He was sensible, stout and was willin', And to shirk from the spur he was loathe. It was one day in summer I rode him, On a chore that was barely routine. Two others and I started early, To change some yearlings their scene. "It isn't so far that you're going, Move 'em slow and don't finish too soon," Was the word that we got just at leavin'. "You'll be back by mid-afternoon." The cattle were rested and willin'. They settled to the trail well. It looked like a nice easy morning, To the troughs at the head of Nogul. Then it happened there about noon-time, In the oak on a steep mountainside. The cattle got hot and got tired, In the shade they would to abide. Old Strawb, he worked well in the tall brush. There wasn't much where he would fail. We was workin' downhill from the yearlings, To push them back up on the trail. I spurred old Strawb through the oak patch, For the clear ground above that we sought. We couldn't get out where we'd got in, We was 'tween 'the rock and the hard spot.' 72 Cowboy Poetry From Utah |