I’m glad I was a country girl raised out on a farm,
With a treasury of memories like sleeping in the barn.
My daughter’s horse came to the porch in the middle of the night.
He wanted to come in with us. He pushed with all his might.
Three times we walked him across the yard and put him in his pen.
He jumped the fence and came right back, so we went out and slept with him.
Come morning we surveyed the place and found the source of the commotion.
In the night someone had taken a down right horse thieving notion.
There were trailer tracks up to the fence and all 5 strands were cut.
Two empty beer cans in the ditch and a hand rolled cigarette butt.
We hugged that horse around the neck and told him we were sure,
Them no good thieves could not believe him knocking on the door.
Another night the kids were sleeping when I began to hear odd sounds.
So I got up, grabbed the shotgun and went to make the rounds.
A hand took hold of the door knob. It began to twist and turn.
My heart throbbed within my chest and fear began to burn.
I rarely locked the doors at night ’cause we felt safe out there,
But we were home alone and so I’d taken extra care.
The meanest dog upon the place began to growl and moan.
It was an awful sound he made, scary and unknown.
I knew by his reaction something bad was right outside.
If my brave dog was frightened, you know that I was petrified.
The next sound I heard was a heavy thud, then he came into sight.
A boar coon probably 80 pounds out hunting in the night.
The biggest one I’d ever seen. I knew my dog could never take it.
I opened up the door hoping the sight of me would shake it.
He stood straight up and hissed at me, all huge and fat and hairy.
I told my dog, “You’re right ole boy this one is mighty scary.’
That coon dropped down and lumbered off. When he was out of sight,
I told that hound, “Good job old friend, come in and spend the night.”
If I had been a city girl just think what I’d been missing.
There ain’t no city slicker ever heard a boar coon hissing!