THE HORSE AUCTION
By Donna Penley
Th’ horse was old, past his prime when they led him into th’ ring;
Had a cut on his knee, but it wasn’t bad . I wondered what he would bring.
Was hunting a mount for my grandson. Wanted something I could trust;
Th’ horse wasn’t lame ’didn’t look bad, if you looked past the dirt an’ the dust.
Th’ auctioneer started making his spiel, said th’ horse was 16 years old;
An’ that gelding reined just like a champ – th’ kind that’s worth pure gold.
I put up my hand when he started at Three, just ,to see how the biddin’ would go;
But someone else had th’ same idea, an’ his price began to grow.
After awhile bids started t’ lag. I was hoping against hope,
That I would prevail an’ buy this ol’ horse, but so did some other folk.
My grandson’s birthday was in just two days. He wanted a horse real bad;
I wanted to make him into a horseman like I had made of his dad.
Th‘ bid was at Eight Hundred an’ Five. They headed th’ horseout th’ door;
My bid was low, not quite up to snuff, so I bid Twenty Five more.
Th’ woman sitting across th’ ring must o’ wanted the horse just as bad;
She raised my bid by Ten dollars. She was starting to make me mad!
Th’ price was now at Eight Hundred an’ Forty. I was beginning to feel real low;
How would I feel if I went home without him? I was running out of dough.
I decided then to bid one more time. After that I’d have to go home;
An’ to my delight, the woman quit bidding, an’ that surprised me some.
Then, as I loaded th’ horse in my trailer, I noticed across th’ way,
That same woman was loading a pony, an’ I heard her girlfriend say:
“You got a good price for ol’ Buck over there. But, don’t ya feel some remorse?
Taking some dumb cowboy for a ride by bidding on your own horse?”
I could do nothing but get in my truck, feelin’ real stupid and dumb.
But, after all, it was worth it. Ol’ Buck would have a good home!
Donna Penley is a Cowgirl Poet with deep Kansas roots who has been writing cowboy poetry for over twenty five years. She is a real Cowgirl and an ex-barrel racer.