by Brenda Swanson
Tribute to Annie
She came to me through a note in the mail,
the little brown bitch with a short stubby tail.
She was saucy and curt with plenty to say.
I knew she'd arrived, had come here to stay.
But what for name? I had a hunch
she'd fit right in with the Rustler bunch.
For the best bed and toys she was a scout;
an outstanding outlaw inside and out.
So Cattle Annie McDougal she came to be,
that little brown bitch that had claimed me.
Just as a pup she was wily and spry.
She knew when to chase. She knew when to spy.
And dark hidey places were her domain.
Bugs, birds and mice to her were a game.
Racing she tried. She had the heart.
To catch that red tail she'd jump from the start.
But a ten inch dog in a twelve-and-a-half race
has to get through the hole just to save face.
Hunting you see has been her forte.
She'll start in the morning and stay there all day.
She's quick to the earth, but then if she's out
there's nobody home. Of that there's no doubt.
Each time in the field she proves to me
what the heart and soul of a terrier should be.
Through good times and bad my best friend, you see,
is this little brown bitch lying here by my knee.
She claimed me for hers the day she arrived.
I'll hold her to me "till the moment she dies.
Honoring all spirits, great & small,
Brenda Swanson & Cattle Annie
*written in life. On her passing there will be a hollow emptiness no words can express