per Kind Permission of Stewy Oates. .©2007

I bought my first Cattle Dog, when I was just a lad,
I got him from a Breeder, who gave him his fancy fad.
The name on them there papers read, “Davendale Parade”,
Those papers didn’t mean too much, no working dog they made.
Papers didn’t make him work, nor fed him at the end of day.
I called that blue dog Hobo, and that’s the name that stayed.

Things were different for dogs back then, it seemed like yesterday,
You would only eat if you could work,and he could work all day.
I could cast him wide around the mob, and he would block em at the lead,
He could push 'em hard and all day long, and he never let me down.
And when cutting fats for market, or branding on the day.
The Ringers working with him, reckoned Hobo cut his pay.

There wasn’t many as good as him, as a working dog all round,
And when it came to scrubbers Hobo was not one to back down.
He would grab them hard and hold them with the whites of eye no more.
Until I got there, to help him pull 'em down.
To compare him with another dog was impossible to do.
A tougher blue dog like Hobo was never to be found.
He was that rare one, that hardly comes around.

Hobo’s pups lived on, but they never matched his deeds,
Though he passed on his genes none seemed to match his seed.
But looking at them young dogs work, I do see Hobo’s ways.
And now when working cattle, and the odd one’s break away,
It's great to watch and think back when, but then it's back today,
I often think of me my old mate Hobo and the days of yesterday.

Now I miss me old mate Hobo, and the things that he could do.
So I thought it only fair of me to share my memories of him with you.

Submitted by Stewy Oates, Drovingmate Kennels

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