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hough a lifetime allotment is one
good dog,
I've already had quite a few.
But, one stands high above the rest,
our faithful friend, Old Blue.

Old Blue was kinda pretty.
He was spotted like a leopard,
one glass eye, and bob-tailed,
a classic Australian Shepherd.

We got Blue when he was five,
trained good, and all grown up.
He was our only good dog
that we didn't raise from a pup.

Blue came from the Osage nation
where he worked for a cowboy crew.
Anything a heel dog can do with a cow
Old Blue was able to do.

When we first met him, he was
lookin' sad,
tied up to a tree.
But, right off the bat, I took up with
him,
and he took up with me.

He also took right up with Pat
and Dessa and Sara Jane.
He even loved our little rug rat,
the one we called Joe Bayne.

Blue was always a gentleman,
and Old Blue was awful smart,
but you didn't want to scold him hard,
'cause he had a tender heart.

If you ever talked too rough to Blue,
he closed his eyes and dropped his ears.
To think he hadn't pleased you
was among his greatest fears.

Just a word about one of the greatest genetic creations on the face of this earth...the border collie.
Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive. Able to leap tall fences in a single bound.
The dog that all sheep talk about but never want to meet. The fur that legends are made of. Makes cyotes cringe, sheep trip the light fantastic and eagles soar somewhere else.
Invested with the energy of a litter of puppies, the work ethic of a boat person and the loyalty of Lassie, they ply their trade on sagebrush flats, grassy fields and precipitous peaks from sea to shinning sea.
"Away to me!" I command. They streak and sail, zipping like pucks upon ice. Black and white humming birds, in out, up down, come by.

Sheep. With head up, one eye cocked over their shoulder asking directions. To the gate through the race. Mighty dog moves behind the bunch like a tow boat pushing barges around a bend.
And heart. Do they try? "Just let me at 'em, Dad! Stay. "C'mon, I'm ready!" Stay. Can't you feel me hummin'! Listen to my heart! It's purrin' like a cat! I am primed! Aim me, point me, pull the trigger!"
"Away to me!" It makes me feel like Robin Hood. He leaves my side like an arrow.

Workin' dogs is like manipulating a screw driver with chop sticks. Like doing calligraphy with a plastic whip. Like bobbing for apples. Like threading a needle with no hands. Like playing pool on the kitchen table.
There are no straight lines in nature. Only arcs. Great sweeping curves of sight and thought and voice and dog. Always having to lead your command about a dog's length.
Sheep bunched like logs on the river. Dogs paddling in the current. Always pushing upstream. A ewe breaks loose. Then another, another. The log jam breaks. Dogs and sheep tumble about in the white water.
Calm again, they start back upstream.
Border collies. Are they truly smarter than chimpanzees? Cuddlier than a koala? More dedicated than Batman's valet?
Can they change course in mid air? Drag Nell from the tracks and locate the missing microfilm?
Yes. I believe they can. They are the best of the best of the best, the epitome of 'above and beyond the call of duty.' Head Dog. Top Gun. I salute you, for man has never had a better friend.

But, as well as he liked family life,
he had a greater joy,
and that was his life's profession;
Blue was a top cowboy.

Even when he was aged,
he spun and frolicked like a pup
everytime I caught the horse
and began to saddle up.

When we were makin' a gather,
there was somethin' special 'bout Blue.
He fell right in and did his part
without bein' told what to do.

Another thing that must be said
on old Blue's behalf,
He'd eat the heels off the meanest bull.
but wouldn't nip a baby calf.

And some of the hands I neighbor with,
who didn't like dogs along,
changed their minds when they saw
'im work.
Then, he could do no wrong.

Blue went through life doin' his job
in almost perfect form,
except for one bad vice he had,
a fear of thunderstorms.

For, every time the lightning cracked
and the thunder started to roll,
if there wasn't already one around,
then Blue would make a hole.

Blue just kinda lost it
when a storm would start to roar.
He'd go through a plate glass window,
or he'd tear right through a door.

Blue lived to be an old dog,
givin' his best to his life's work.
He finally got stiff and crippled up,
but, still, he wouldn't shirk.

Blue played his last role out in style;
he became a cowdog professor,
and he then trained young heeler Hank
to be his own successor.

His last few months were filled with pain,
which wasn't fair to Blue,
but I just kept procrastinating
about what I ought to do.

I finally got my courage up,
but I waited for as pretty day.
Then I called the vet out
to help Blue on his way.

I put him on the pickup bed
where he always loved to ride.
We gave Old Blue an easy trip
on to the Other Side.

His body lies 'neath a sand hill
where he used to gather cattle,
but his spirit still goes with me
eveytime I'm in the saddle.

Joe Kreger writes from his home in Tonkawa, Oklahoma. This poem
appears in his book, "Lookin at Life' ".
His books and CDs are available
from the High Plains Journal by calling
1-800-954-5263. For personal appearance information,
call 1-816-452-3513.