Thar Jest Ain’t No Accountin’ Fer A Pig

The beginning of cowboy poetry is thought to have originated from the stories and songs of Scottish and Irish shepherds. These were put into rhyme to help them to be remembered easier. This talent came to America through immigration and many of these immigrants became veterans of the Civil War, known in the South as “The War of Northern Aggression.” At the end of this war time, many of these immigrants moved west and made their living as cowboys on western ranches. Many lonely hours were whiled away by making up stories and songs that told about their daily adventures, as well as, their memories of family, sweethearts, and the life left behind in their home countries. This way of life was at its peak in the late 1800s and early 1900s and remains alive in the hearts and minds of all of us that continue to revel in the freedoms offered by the wide open spaces and the land of “big sky.”

These cowboys were away from home and family, so many would use humor in their stories and poems. My Ol’ Daddy would say, “Humor makes a fellers job a bit more fun and the workday go faster!”

This is a poem I wrote with some humor and I don’t know where the pig came from, unless it was one from Larry McMurtry’s novel, Lonesome Dove where Gus McRae tacked a sign on the gate post that read, “We rent pigs!”

Thar Jest Ain’t No Accountin’ Fer A Pig

Times wuz hard, an’ money wuz short, but, we tried to do all we could.

The cow market had fell apart, an’ things did not look so good.

Our owner was an ornery cuss, sent his accountant right away.

Our boss shore put up a fuss, but this scamp had come to stay.

This bean counter was quite citified an’ was not a friendly dude.

The youngster was to be his guide, an’ was treated purty rude.

This tinhorn meant to look about, an’ needed a way to go.

Told the button jest to help him out, there warn’t a chance to say no.

This Kid was just a new hand But he meant to clear the air, fer he was quick to understand an’ jest figgered it was fair.

Got the riggin’ on a salty hoss an’ led it to the bunk house door.

Had not figgered on the Boss, to come walkin’ ‘crost that floor, to tell that “towny” he best not ride… But ‘afore he could have his say, that greenhorn shoved the Boss aside!

Determined to make his play.

Stepped up on that salty hoss, with a smirk upon his face.

Seemed to snub his nose at the boss, as he snapt’ his derby in place.

Just as that Dude stepped on his mount, a pig run under that hoss.

Time in the saddle you couldn’t count, as we watched that epic toss.

High in the air, soon, down he came, an’ landed with a squishy thud.

We all knew the pig was to blame, as the dude squashed down in that mud.

Wiped off that pig mud as best he could, as he pondered his disgrace.

He spit an’ sputtered as he stood, with a pouty look on his face.

Then told the Boss to fetch a rig, ‘cuz he was a- leavin’ these parts.

We all had smiles, as did the pig, who had won a place in all our hearts.

Thar jest ain’t no accountin’ fer a pig!

© Ol’ Jim Cathey

So long and thanks for this visit. Kiss a cowboy or a cowgirl and appreciate their efforts to keep our western heritage alive.

Join us at First Baptist Church Marlin, but tether your pig outside!

God bless each of you and God Bless America!