Ain’t called to stand all sorts of grief from a
dern fool hired man.
And when he stubbed to the milking-shed in
sort of a dream and tried
To make Matilda “So” and “Whoa” while he
milked on the wrong, off side,
She giv’ him a look to wilt his soul and pugged
him once with her hoof,
And I guess that at last his wits were jogged as
he slammed through the lintel roof.