BADGER

The doors flung open, the stock started to run, and out staggered Badger, a sight in the sun.
He crawled on all fours, and he was madder than hell, wouldn’t go to a soul, and you could just tell.
He didn’t trust cowboys, nor the Peruvian men. 
He was snarling and growling, on the fight.  No one dared approach, for fear that he’d bite.
Immediately off the trailer, that dog wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t heed any call, looked ready to tear a hole right through us all.
My husband watched him close, saw that fire in his eye, said, “That’s a fine working dog.  I won’t let him get by.
"He dug in his lunch sack, found a burrito, and broke it in half quiet as a mosquito.
 He held that lunch out, not a fear in his stride, but Badger came sideways, with his hackles all wide. 
He was growling a curse word no doubt in my mind.
He snapped up that burrito, spun quick on his heel, and the first line of trust was beginning to feel. 
 I cursed at that stubborn cowboy of mine, when he brought that dog home.   I Said, “He’ll chew on the young’uns!  He’s too wild to roam!”
But my husband, he just smiled and saddled his bay, and Badger, he followed, every step of the way.  
Sunup to sundown, from dawn until dark, that dog was the toughest, with the biggest old spark. 
 Most cow dogs drive from the back, keep the pressure and go, but a Hangin’ Tree bred dog can work high and low.
He’d head them or heel them whichever it took smartest working dog we ever did hook. 
He protected my children, he guarded our spread, thirteen solid years, just like my husband had said.   
When his time came around, we all held him tight, surrounded by family, and fading daylight.  
He was loyal to the last, with a final slow breath, laid his head in her lap and eased on into rest.  
 2013 - February 27, 2026