Now you might think Ole Blue was a dog tried and true
Who died after years of devotion
To lie in the lee of a cottonwood tree
And tug at his master’s emotion
Like the strains of Old Shep sung around the campfire
By Trubey and Zitting and me.
It’s a wonderful song, but you would be wrong;
It’s a different Ole Blue, as you’ll see.
I was living at home, not long from the war,
Just drawing my 52/ 20,
Not much you might say, for libation and play,
But for idlers it seemed to be plenty.
On the day I’ve in mind I pulled up the blind
And there on his way down the street
Was an elderly gent and I saw as he went
He was troubled to stay on his feet.
I gave him a glance and thought," Here’s a chance
To do a kind act randomly."
So I held to his arm so he’d come to no harm
And we went down the street carefully,
(And I thought all the while, with a touch of a smile,
"Won’t the neighbors think highly of me?")
And down the next block, we continued to walk
With no words, ‘til he waved toward a door,
And we went up some steps and I knocked on the door
And we waited, and waited some more,
And thoughts crossed my mind of the welcome we’d find
From a daughter, a wife, or a sister,
To see at the door their dear loved-one once more,
Home safe, and with his assistor.
The door cracked a bit and I have to admit
It was not what I’d anticipated;
She was large, she looked tough, and if that’s not enough
She seemed to be less than elated.
With a lip that was curled, the words almost hurled,
"It’s Ole Blue", she said, quite disgusted.
She pulled him inside and with a glance somewhat snide
Let me know that I was mistrusted.
Now I assure you this story is true
And I’ll never forget the occasion
When in all the world’s view I ushered Ole Blue
To a house of the feline persuasion