James H. Smith


When dally ropers talk around the camp fire or auction barn
How they lost part of a finger or thumb, can turn into quite a yarn
Not my friend Stub, he hesitates to say
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How his fingers departed his hand on that fateful day
Why they called him stub was plain to see.
It isn’t ‘cause he stood just five foot three.
Three fingers on his right hand, where five used to be.
An embarrassment to him it was plain to see.
The way it happened on that day;
The neighbor’s milk cow decided to stray.
The dogs had it trapped in the wife’s garden there.
He grabbed a rope, ran out, not a minute to spare.
As fate would have it, he roped the horns on the very first throw.
Then around the garden they did go.
Man in boxer shorts Cowboy hat and boots
Dogs bitten that old cows hocks like they really give a hoot
Right then Stub took a dally on a stout corner post;
That’s when two of his fingers done give up the ghost.
Well you would think the Vet could sew them fingers back on.
But those damn dogs grabbed ‘em, and they were gone.