When Father Goes to Shoot

October’s here, the law is off

     From all the kinds uv game,

An’ ev’ry year about this time

     Pa guns it for the same.

It takes him ‘bout a week or so

     To fix things up to suit;

An’ when the fatal mornin’ comes

     He sallies forth to shoot.

I’ve wanted pa to buy a gun

     For me, but he says, “no”;

He says it’s fun enough for me

     To foller him, an’ so

When he starts out I tag behind

     To carry all the loot;

It is an awful day for me

     When father goes to shoot.

If he would only get some game

     I wouldn’t care a bit;

If he would shoot a hundred pounds

     I’d lug the hull uv it –

But lawd! This trampin’ round all day

     For nothin’ doesn’t suit;

I allus dread the time to come

     When father goes to shoot.

He stomps around the underbrush

     An’ looks up in each tree;

An’ when he don’t see any game

     He blames it onto me.

“Hang boys!” says he, “fur scarin’ game,

     They’d orter get the boot;”

O’ pa is loaded up for bear

     When he is out to shoot.

Pa gits back home mus’ tired to death,

     An’ cross as he kin be;

“Ain’t supper ready? I am starved!”

     He says to ma, says he.

“O yes,” says ma, I thought you’d like

     Some game cooked up to suit;

“Ol’ Tabby fetched a rabbit in

     While you was off to shoot!”

Oct. 14, ‘09