Feedin' The Stock

Hear the chorus in that tie-up, runch, ger-
      runch, and runch and runch!
---There's a row of honest critters! Does me
      good to hear 'em munch.
When the barn is gettin' dusky and the sun's
      behind the drifts,
---Touchin' last the gable winder where the
      dancin' hay-dust sifts,
When the coaxin' from the tie-up kind o' hints
      it's five o clock---
Wai, I've got a job that suits me that's the
      chore of feedin stock.

We've got patches down to our house---honest
      patches, though, and neat,
But we'd rather have the patches than to skinch
      on what we eat.
Lots of work, and grub to back ye---that's a
      mighty wholesome creed.
---Critters fust, s'r, that's my motto give the
      critters all they need.
And the way we do at our house, marm and
      me take what is left,
And---wal,---we ain't goin' hungry, as you'll
      notice by our heft.
Drat the man that s calculatin' when he meas-
      ures out his hay,
Groanin' ev'ry time he pitches ary forkful out
      the bay;
Drat the man who feeds out ruff-scuff, wood
      and wire from the swale,
'Cause he wants to press his herds'-grass, send
      his clover off for sale.

Down to our house we wear patches, but it
      ain't nobody's biz
Jest as long as them 'ere critters git the best of
      hay there is.
When the cobwebs on the rafters drip with
      winter's early dusk
And the rows of critters' noses, damp with
      breath as sweet as musk,
Toss and tease me from the tie-up---ain't a job
      that suits me more
Than the feedin' of the cattle that s the reg'-
      lar wind-up chore.

When I grain 'em or I meal 'em--wal, there's
      plenty in the bin,
And I give 'em quaker measure ev'ry time I
      dip down in;
And the hay, wal, now I've cut it, and I own
      it and it's mine
And I jab that blamed old fork in, till you'd
      think I'd bust a tine.
I ain't doin' it for praises---no one sees me but
      the pup,
---And I get his apperbation, 'cause he pounds
      his tail, rup, rup!
No, I do it 'cause I want to; 'cause I couldn't
      sleep a wink,
If I thought them poor dumb critters lacked for
      fodder or for drink.
And to have the scufflin' barnful give a jolly
      little blat
When you open up o'mornin's, ah, there's com-
      fort, friend, in that!
And you've prob'ly sometimes noticed, when
      his cattle hate a man,
That it's pretty sure his neighbors size him up
      on that same plan.
But I'm solid in my tie-up; when I've finished
      up that chore,
I enjoy it standin' list'nin' for a minit at the
      door.
And the rustle of the fodder and the nuzzlin'
      in the meal
And the runchin's of their feedin' make this
      humble feller feel
That there ain t no greater comfort than this
      'ere---to understand
That a dozen faithful critters owe their com
      fort to my hand.
Oh, the dim old barn seems homelike, with its
      overhanging mows,
With its warm and battened tie-up, full of well-
      fed sheep and cows.
Then I shet the door behind me, drop the bar
      and drive the pin
And, with Jeff a-waggin' after, lug the foamin'
      milk pails in.

That s the style of things to our house---marm
      and me we don't pull up
Until ev'ry critter's eatin', from the cattle to
      the pup.
Then the biskits and the spare-rib and plum
      preserves taste good,
For we're feelin', me and mother, that we're
      actin' bout's we should.
Like as can be, after supper mother sews an
      other patch
And she says the duds look trampy, 'cause she
      ain't got goods to match.
Fust of all, though, comes the mealbins and
      the hay-mows; after those
If there's any extry dollars, wal, we'll see about
      new clothes.
But to-night, why, bless ye, mother, pull the
      rug acrost the door;
---Warmth and food and peace and comfort
      let's not pester God for more.