On the farms there's consternation,
And there's wide-spread agitation,
For the hunting season's opened up again.
In the paths and in the by-ways,
In the woods and in the highways,
There are packs of dogs and scores of shooting men.
Now and then a pig is squealing,
Or a hen or rooster keeling
Over suddenly in some sequestered spot.
Upon a close examination,
You may glean the information,
That by some lobster of a gunner it was shot.
Now and then a cow is snorting,
And around a field cavorting,
All because a load of shot has come its way.
Now and then a horse is rearing,
And in greatest pain appearing,
For it stopped another charge that went astray.
'Tis no wonder that the granger
Growls each time he sees a stranger,
Prowling through the woods and fooling with a gun;
For the shooting is alarming,
To the man who does the farming,
And he won't rest easy till the season's done.
That's a very fine song, I'll admit. Percy is just dead in love with it. He makes me sing it about ten times a day.
He says he can sympathize with the horses and cows, for he has "stopped many a charge that went astray" and knows how it feels.
We left the farmer with the gun, and Percy began to get woefully dry.
"Great Scott," says he, "I'd give almost anything for a drink of whiskey."