In 'not-so-loving' memory of Gwen

 Poetics Aside asks us to write an animal poem.

Her name was Gwen
She was black and white
And how she would smile
In devilish delight
As the little ‘milk-maid’
Would splash and slide
Through grass and weeds
And fresh-made ‘pies’
No shout or slap
Would alter her gait
As she looked back and laughed
At the little milk-maid

Co’ boss, co’ boss,
My sing-song plea
Seemed to be lost
On ‘her royalty’
In old rubber-boots
Two sizes too small
The milk-maid would beg
And the milk-maid would call
Co’ boss, co’ boss
Won’t you hurry please?
With a toss of her head
Gwen would pause ‘neath the trees

They say there is 'one'
In every crowd
And Gwen wore that title
Sedately and proud
A yell and a poke
And a slap on the rump
Did not even cause
Her ‘royalty’ to jump
Through the gate at last
Prodded into place
Gwen lifts her muddy tail
And slaps my face

Janet Martin

This was back in the day when dairy cows were turned to pasture
and for a while it was my job at 5:00 p.m to help bring in the cows, tie them up,
assemble the 'milkers' and after supper...milking.
Gwen and I were arch-enemies...I did not like her and she did not like me!
...oh! and 'muddy tail' was the polite description... it was more like manure-drenched
at milking time if she lay in the stall and let her tail drag in the gutter! Ah, good times:)