Got a Question? Ask A COWBOY POET!
March 2026
From beloved horses to ornery cows, this month the cowboy poet columnists reflect on memorable animal muses in their lives as they answer this month’s question:
"What is the most memorable animal you have ever included in a poem?”
~ The Animal Anecdoter
Doris daley:
I grew up "in the old days" on the ranch in the 1960s. Mom had a strict "no pets in the house" policy. That was an ironclad rule until my 10-year-old brother went to a birthday party in town and came home with a kitten--the birthday boy's mom solved an unexpected problem at her house by giving a kitten to each kid as a party favour. We were thrilled when Mom broke her own rule and allowed us to keep Marcel (we named him after the birthday boy) in the house. Never a better loved house cat in the world.
Alas, three years later came the horrible day of Marcel's demise. He was a house cat allowed out when he wanted, and tragically, Mom ran over him when she backed the truck out of the yard. Crying children. Crying mother. No hope for the poor victim. Mom ran to the phone, gave it two long cranks (we were on a party line), and called up to the neighbour's, where she knew Dad was visiting. "I just ran over Marcel. I think he's still twitching," cried Mom. "Well, finish him off with a shovel. It sounds like he's a goner." said Dad.
On a party line, if you were sneaky, you could listen in on your neighbour's phone calls. The two farmwives who listened in on Mom's call did not know the name of our cat, but they knew that Marcel Pratte, the local carpenter from town, was at the ranch everyday renovating the kitchen cupboards. The story took on a whole new sinister tone and the gossip mill went into overdrive. It took a while to put out the flames of the story. I wrote about the episode in my poem, "No Pets in the House."
Dick Gibford:
I can’t say exactly what poem of mine has had the most memorable animal or person included within it… but I believe that my poem “Critters” if I had to pick ONE would be it. Of all the many horses I’ve owned and ridden many a mile on, Buddy and Jerry are likely the best all around cow-horses I’ve ever had… What makes them even more special is they are still alive and get ridden occasionally. Buddy is 24 and Jerry is 22. They enter in at the very start of the poem:
My two best horses,
Buddy and Jerry,
Standing head to tail
They have carried me over many a trail
One’s a strip-face sorrel with a long red mane
Buddy is a blaze faced chestnut with two sock feet
Long scar on his hip where he got caught
‘Tween a gate and a fence in a real tight spot
We have lived in this camp for many years now
And those two are the best I’ve had
To jump in front of a cow
We are partners, me and those two
When it comes to cowboying
They know what to do.
It’s evening now
And the cattle are starting out to graze
After being shaded up on another
Long hot summer day
And lately there’s a waxing moon bright
Making the coyote bark most the night
And while the birds go to roost and the coyotes howl
The lion leaves its ledge for a night on the prowl
In a few more days when the moon is big and white
The bear will walk the country until long after daylight
Then if he don’t wind a lion kill or some such meal
He’ll shade up under a big juniper at the top of a hill
On the high ridges
Where the afternoon zephyrs blow
The big bucks lay in the shade
Looking down at the valley below
The hawks and eagles are soaring around
Screeching now and then
Hoping to spook up a meal
Down there on the ground
There’s a lot more critters
I can’t mention them all
From the biggest
Down to the small
From the big range bull
To the mama cow and her baby calf
Just watching those calves run and play
Makes me laugh
I reckon critters mean more to a man
When there’s no people around
And you live way out in a camp
50 miles from town
Watch Dick Gibford recite “Critters” at the 35th Gathering here.
Dw Groethe:
I really like this question, as I bet most everybody else did, too. I had a lot of poems to pick from, but I decided to use a Christmas poem from a long while back. Backstory time.
Around 2010, I think, we were in the middle of calving season when we were checking on the cows and we found one that had a calf and then prolapsed and died. It'd just happened, so the calf was lying there alive but in need of a bit of help, so we loaded him up and took him to the barn, got some colostrum in him and well...you know the deal. Anyway, another bum calf, except this one the boss's gal friend took a fancy to and named him Little Buddy. He was her calf and after branding and cutting there was no way he was gonna eventually head for the feedlot as he was now officially a ranch pet.
From the time he got weaned till he finally went to that big old pasture in the sky, he spent his life hanging out with the heifers, which I figure was about fourteen years.
Anyway, it's 2012, late November, and I'm needing an idea for a Christmas poem and nothing at all is popping up in the ol' thinker organ, when I get the idea of Little Buddy hitched to a farm wagon and hauling presents to all the folks on Christmas eve. (Obviously this is before Santa appears on the scene). It ended up being one of my favorite Xmas ditties and for that I'll be forever indebted to Little Buddy. Thanks for asking.
Ta daa,
d dub
yvonne hollenbeck:
The most memorable animal I ever included in a poem was a cow, Number 391 Green. (Green ear tag with 391 number on it). My husband and hired man were 70 miles from home fencing a lease unit, getting it ready for summer grazing. Yes, it was spring and we were nearly done calving, but we still had a few springers left. (Springers are cows that are getting close to calving). I was left to check on them with the instructions that if one was calving and needed help, to call a neighbor and not try to handle it by myself. Sure enough, about mid-afternoon, 391 Green was lying down on a far corner of a 40 acre calving lot, with the nose and one foot of a calf sticking out. The unborn calf had a leg back and would need assistance.
I called the neighbor man to come help and should not have, as he gets very agitated and is not about to listen to a woman. Yes, there are men like that. Anyway, he came right away. I told him to leave her be until I got gates shut and would come back and we could drive her down a lane and into a calving shed that was all rigged up for that. It usually works real slick, and after the cow goes down the lane and into a trap she has no where to go but into the shed and into a calving chute where the headgate is tripped and she is caught; then we can do whatever is necessary to assist her, pull the calf, and all is well…usually.
By the time I had the first gate shut, the neighbor was laying on his horn, revving his motor and had the cow up and running…right down through the last open gate into another 40 acre lot with him right behind her. We finally got her back to the first lot, and after another half-hour finally got her running down the lane. Rather than let her run into the shed, he immediately ran into the shed ahead of her while I was just trying to keep her in the lane. Finally, she went in with me a safe distance behind her, but before she went into the calving chute, she turned. She was on the fight and slammed a panel that the neighbor man had unhooked. Why? We have never figured that out.
The panel flew and hit me on the forehead. I remember going down, and as I tried to regain my feet, there was a massive amount of blood everywhere! I yelled at the man, “I’m hurt! Leave her be and take me to the hospital.” I grabbed a towel (don’t know how clean it was) that was hanging over a panel to try to stop the bleeding somewhat. It is 30 miles to the nearest hospital in Winner, SD, so off we went. I received a few stitches, a unique hair cut, and was sent home with a bad concussion. As we drove in the yard, my husband and hired man were just pulling in and learned of the episode. I said, “There’s a mad cow on the loose in the calving shed with a calf partly out, and it’s been so long that she may be dead.”
Would you believe, they went in the shed with a horse and roped her in order to subdue her, pulled the calf and it was alive and well, but the cow had literally lost her mind. There is no way she would mother the calf, so it was orphaned, and the good young cow was sold for slaughter, as she would never recover from the ordeal. As for me, I had a black eye that went clear down under my chin. In other words, the whole left side of my face was black and blue. I did indeed write a poem about the ordeal.
bill lowman:
Great question, yes, it's all about "Badger." It was an annual early December tradition for JoAnn and me and our two young cowboy sons to pack a lunch and scour the steep canyon north slopes for the perfect Christmas tree after the feeding was done for the day. One year, winter hit hard and early and wouldn't break, so we decided not to take the little boys out. Instead, I'd saddle up and pull one home over the snow with Badger. He was a very athletic, green-broke, dapple grey horse that had been badly abused when I bought him as a two-year-old. My poem, "Ma's Christmas Tree" tells the story.
Ma’s Christmas Tree
It's all a part of Christmas
Fetchin' Ma's tree in the cold
I could have took ol' Wrangler
But he's gettin' kinda old
So I caught up little Badger Gray
And pulled down my old scotch hat
When things ain't right around him
He turns inside out, quick as a cat
My stomach was gettin' empty
It was almost dinner time
I had Gray rode down pretty good
We'd been through a mighty climb
Over in the cedar breaks
Quite a ways from home
The snow was crusted 'most knee high
Over the dusty loam
I was draggin' Ma's tree with a rope
When the rope went under his tail
He gathered all four and went to the sky
You could say we really set sail
Every time we came back down
His rump that axe handle would hit
I'd better pull all the leather I can
For danged sure he ain't gonna quit
Thought I was done for a couple of times
But managed to gather back in
You're just gonna have to forgive me Lord
If cussin's considered a sin
He paused for a second when he lit
Next to a creek bank trail
It was then I saw my chance had come
And jerked it free from his tail
We're both sweatin' and tremblin' now
And hurtin' bad from fatigue
I looked over my shoulder
Ma's tree ain't nothin' but a twig
A few days following, I penned the poem simply for family amusement. JoAnn got such a kick out of it that she sent it into a state wide Ag publication where our state arts council folklorist read it, then chose me to represent our state at the very first Elko Cowboy Poetry Gathering in 1985. I then came home and instantly started the Dakota Cowboy Poetry Gathering that will celebrate its 40th this May 23rd and 24th in Medora, ND. This single poem is the very reason for the great reemergence of popularity of the upper northern regions, sending many poets on to national acclaim at Elko through the years.
darrell holden:
I wrote a poem about an old cow that I will always remember. #121 was her tag number, and she was a rip-off of a sale barn cow, a bunch-quitter extraordinaire, and just didn’t like company of the human or bovine kind.
One fall, she had drifted clear down low with her calf. Dad and I and my cousin cut their tracks and the chess match began. Three hours later, at dark, she had “checkmated” us into humility. We chased her through cedar patches and down ledges, and we were all missing some hide. But she slipped away like a ghost.
The next spring, neighbors were gathering their winter range and managed to snag her with a big mob of their cattle. She had her last year’s calf and a new one with her. We gathered them up and hauled ‘em home. She was old so she got culled that spring. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget all the times we matched wits with that old sister. We won most of the battles except that last one. Cattle like #121 makes a feller stay sharp. Heck, anyone can run a herd of gentle cows in their yard. It takes and makes hands to chase ‘em across the desert on their home turf. And I won’t forget #121. I kinda miss her. Kinda
Darrell
