King and the Griz

(An original poem by Kenny Sailors)

Ya know, I recon about every cowboy has a particular horse that just seems to hold onto a spot in his mind - a pardner

Now old King was a horse like that
He was big & smart & strong
In fact he was the foreman of the herd
The others dared do no wrong.

He never knew what his limits were
He'd go most anywhere
All ya had to do was hold on tight
& old King'd get ya there.

Where another horse might go around
Or maybe just plain stop
Old King'd just keep diggin' in
& walk right over the top

Oh - he'd nip at ya when ya chinched him down
& step on yer foot now & then
In the short time we spent together though
Old King became my friend

The only time that I recall
I couldn't make him go
Was late one Fall - Twelve miles from camp
In about a foot of snow.

A track came down a brushy gulch
And crossed in front of us
Old King just stopped - he wouldn't budge
His heart began to rush

Them tracks was like a 'lectric fence
The fronts about 8" wide
Old King just stood stiff-legged
With little shivers in his hide

Well - I got down outa the saddle
To comfort my old friend
I rubbed his ears & talked real low
And finally got a knee to bend

So I started out to lead on foot
Old King real close behind
But every few steps we'd both look back
For that Griz we thot we'd find

Well - back at camp Old King & I
Were glad the day was done
& to this day he still don't know
I wasn't even packin' my gun!