I lay here half dozing, saddle under my head, inside an old sleeping bag
meant for a bed. It’s too cold to sleep and I worry ’bout Jake. But, I’ll stay by the
fire until I’m awake. I peek out from the covers to just look around. My breath turns to steam and
it floats to the ground. The air is too cold to climb out of bed. I’m feeling a little
like Old Sleepy Head. And then I see Jake. He has moved in close by. He’s smellin’ for snacks near
my saddle bag tie. He’s been with me through hot and cold. His days now are
numbered, I wish he warn’t old. Old Jake and me, we have been quite a team. We’ve ridden the fence, so it
would seem to never run out or come to an end. We keep it upright, it’s our job
to mend. And Jake understands when I give a command. He helps stretch the wire. A
good old top hand. There’s nothin’ quite like a man and his horse. The two work
like one, a powerful source. Now my old bones are feelin’ the air. The years have slipped by. It doesn’t
seem fair. Old Jake has seen 25 years come and go. Now the two of us
move just a little bit slow. When I was near fifty I thought to marry a handsome gal who was somewhat
contrary to a cowboy’s ways and all that he had, especially old Jake, who was
then just a lad. She TOLD me to choose. It was her or my horse. There was only one answer,
and that was of course, Old Jake, who was always standin’ nearby. I said, “Take
your dress and your flowers. GOOD-BYE.” The years have flown by. Did I make the right choice? I can talk to Old Jake.
He don’t need a voice. Just havin’ him close next to me by the fire is better than
any the foreman could hire. But, it’s lonely for sure, just the two of us here. Will we both be alive this
same time in a year? No use a wonderin’, that fence is our life. We’re here to the
end, no matter the strife. Well, the hot cakes are cookin’, a breakfast for two. And Jake will try eating
more than a few. Then I’ll feed him some oats, toss a flake of grass hay. The
same old routine, gettin’ ready for the day. As I look down the fence at a wide gapin’ hole, it seems to be saying, “Bring
up your soul.” So with hammer and staples this cowboy and friend head down
the fence line that’s never to end.
