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Bernard de Silva
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« on: February 22, 2007, 05:39:11 AM » |
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"The Blue Dog's Mate."
He didn't run anything like a race champion,
in the first furlong he dropped out ... gone.
Saved then from the knackery by the ringer,
an dour old timer, with his blue dog looking on.
The horse, he looked like a million dollars,
he was solid, and he had good breeding too.
Why he was lazy and wouldn't run, or gallop,
only the dog, and one horse wise ringer knew.
For the old ringer had walked the blue puppy,
in the half light, each morning just at dawn.
He had seen this horse grow and then mature,
from the shaky legged foal, just newly born.
The foal and young dog had formed a bonding,
with familiarity and affinity growing day by day.
Watched by the ailing mare, the bay mother,
and the ringer, two comrades now at play.
Then came that saddening cloudy morning,
when the ringer found the mare had died.
The orphan foal there, lone and bewildered,
standing forlornly, by his fallen mother's side.
The blue dog soon stood beside the orphan,
somehow seeking, to share a comrades pain.
The ringer, gone to tell the owner, left them
foal and dog together, mourning in the rain.
The owner, a hardened man, heard uncaring,
to the ringer noted, " foal likely will survive,"
Said," he'll be turned out with the yearlings,
there the best conditions, to falter or to thrive."
The old ringer left quietly, without comment,
but the rising anger, inside him he could feel.
A contempt for this man, without compassion,
to any animal uncaring, heart as cold as steel.
And he found the pair where he had left them,
and he quietly stroked the colt to ease his pain.
Just man, the orphan, and his mate, the blue dog,
Standing motionless, a sad requiem in the rain.
They moved the mare, no more a thing of value,
took the colt, protesting, to the others of his clan.
Away from all that he now knew, and cared for,
familiar land, the young cattle dog, and the man.
The dog and master fetched the lonely big horse,
from stables, where he'd learned the racing game.
Paid the man who'd owned him, who demanded,
"take notice, that you must firstly change his name.
For I'm freed now of this useless equine baggage,
he's your senseless folly, I just cleaned the slate.
You can now kindly remove this useless animal,
I'll hear no more, when he passes from the gate."
The big horse graced the ringer's lowly holding,
with the stock horses, the old man, and his mate.
Each morning, with the sunrise, came the ritual,
the mile long walk together, to the highway gate.
The game, where man removed the dog's collar,
held the big horse, sent the dog off down the track.
He rubbed the big fellow's muzzle with the collar,
then, with blue dog at the half mile, rode him back.
And the blue dog would bolt with their movement,
full tilt, on the grass verge, toward their old abode.
The horse, with hoofs pounding and mane flying,
swiftly making up the lee-way, on the gravel road.
Slowly the old man came to realize, the quickness,
and the stamina, the sure footed power of his steed.
The ability of a thoroughbred, the value of breeding,
for in running out a mile, the time was fast indeed.
And they wondered, the officials and all the punters,
on country cup race day, at the one odd listed name.
Where has this horse come from, who is this trainer,
it has breeding, but it surely has no claim to fame.
And it seemed that as the handler led it to the barrier,
through the bridle, was looped a collar in his hand.
None seemed to notice he rubbed the horse's muzzle,
the collar was a message, for this horse to understand.
At barrier rise, he came out running, head held high,
it seemed he was looking, homeward, past the half mile.
But his pace ever seemed to quicken, with the leaders,
and the jockey, had to guide him forward just a while.
For he had them beaten, almost a furlong off the finish,
why, he led them easy, led almost from the starting gate.
The caller raved ," never heard of him, but he's a beauty,
but why is this big horse called The Blue Dog's Mate."
Although winners, the ringer cared little for the trophy,
the horse less for the purple rug, hung around his coat.
Both impatient with the proceedings, and all the drama,
wanting only to be with blue dog, banished to the float.
And each one's memory strayed back to a misty morning,
a sad day always to be remembered, the union set by fate.
A day that shaped the pathway, and the common destiny,
of blue dog, ringer, and that horse, "The Blue Dog's Mate."
[C].Copyright:------------------Bernard de Silva.
[An old and ragged posting, things are a bit quiet]
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