 Odes from the Barnyard The critters of Stone Holler and Points South Little Alex Silver Knight
 The Myrtle Hurdles
I met my match one day. In one more bird that arrived brand new in a gunnysack of gray. Myrtle hadn't a lick of sense and I was a bit inept. She spent her days escaping the fence I built to keep her kept. She loved to lead me a merry chase in her younger, lighter days, And I admit, to my own disgrace, that I put up with her ways. As she refused to stay on her plot or go in out of the rain, I lost weight and got colds a lot while she continued to gain. As weeks went by, I could really tell Myrtle was growing stout. She calmly lumbered, I ran like hell till she had me all worn out. She got too heavy for me to carry, so I got crafty and mean. In all the hours of thrust and parry, well, nobody came out clean. For every dawn, from the empty pen she vacated at the crack, Myrtle was out in the road again and I was shooing her back. And every evening, I looked to see her strolling off in the cool, Glancing sideways and watching me flap my arms like a fool. We covered acres of woods and grounds, all totally unrequired. Myrtle was over thirty pounds, I was skinny and tired. I knew it couldn't go on much longer, she had it down to an art. It was as apparent who was stronger as it was which one was smart. The day the axe put an end to her living, I didn't feel a bit bad. And Myrtle was sure the best Thanksgiving dinner I ever had!
when Annie Rooney came, A tiny ball of downy fluff to grow into her name.
And black and royal purple, silky bright. He made the noise, she never made a sound. She kept the peace while he enjoyed a fight. And when he disappeared one cloudy day, She didn't understand why he was gone. But knowing she had young'uns on the way, My Annie Rooney bravely carried on. She hatched a pair of chicks of his, and then Took in a third, an orphan, to her nest. She kept them in the safety of the pen And trusted me to come and do the rest. She never slept while they were yet awake Or went to roost until they settled down. She ate the broken bits they didn't take, She stood beside the water, lest they drown. She bore the heat without the least complaint And kept the children in when it was cold, For such a mother, such a little saint, I thought deserved to have her story told. She saw her children grow to twice her size, And pretty and well-mannered, never loud. She followed all their movements with her eyes, And oh, I hope they might have made her proud. The third December that I loved her so, The jaws of death had come to do their worst. Before they'd have her children, well I know They had to finish Annie Rooney first.
When Annie Rooney died, But never try to sing or count How many days I cried. Ducktales
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