Tags: ARBA Royalty, Breeds, educational contests, Humor, Judging, poem, Polish
I entered this in the creative writing division of the ARBA youth educational contests in 2007, where it won a rosette. If you are a youth member and planning to attend the ARBA convention in Indianapolis, you might enjoy the educational contests. It’s like the arts and craft division at fair. You can enter posters, displays, crafts, woodworking, and much more! You bring your exhibit to convention, but you must pre-enter by September. Details at www.arba.net/youth.htm
Now, here for the poem. And though it’s not a true story, it’s one I could easily see happening to me!
Lamentations upon Selling a Certain Junior
…that isn’t a junior anymore.
I walked up to someone I knew
Asked, May I see your buck?
I heard you’ve done real well with him,
(Congrats on your good luck)
I mean the son that last month won
the Polish national show.
I have some young breeders with me
And they would like to know
To tell the best from all the rest
To cull and to decide.
She got out her black buck, I said,
That’s great, now step aside!
So I stood there with schoolmarm’s air
And showed those kids her black.
Had to highlight which points were right
For nothing did he lack.
This little man, as I began,
Has just the sort of head
That I wish more of my Pol’s wore
It’s not too short, I said.
And it’s not wrong, not stretched too long
But full with rounded cheek.
That curvature between the eyes
Is what all breeders seek.
His eyes worth gold are big and bold
Their liquid brown is right.
Eyes carry fifteen points, you know,
They must be round and bright.
I have no fear that this buck’s ear
Is the best that I’ve seen.
See how strong and straight they stand,
Don’t bow, scissor, or lean?
His bone is fine, see his topline?
It’s arched so smooth and deep.
When you see hindquarters this full
It’s sure a buck to keep!
And best yet, this midnight jet
This glossy blackness just.
Without a hint of chocolate tint
Not stained with molt or rust.
I love to touch his fur so much.
Great snap to his flyback.
Textured and dense, he has it all
Painted such lovely black.
Firm flesh indeed! What do you feed?
He’s solid as a rock!
You know how much I love his fur,
It shines from nose to hock.
Excuses gone, forced hands withdrawn
From that splendid bunny
I had but then one last question,
Now, From which lines is he?
I read surprise in my friend’s eyes
She said, I thought you knew!
It sounded strange to hear you praise
This buck I bought from you!
I gasped, No kid! She laughed, You did!
You sold this little boy.
For thirty bucks that day last May.
He’s now my little joy!
I choked aloud and then a cloud
Seemed to settle on my mind.
Here I’d been trying to teach these kids
When I had been so blind!
So this story has morals three
Three things I learned that day.
Never think you know it all,
And Let those juniors stay!
What I mean is till you’ve seen
Quite well how your line grows,
Don’t just sell off the ten-week-olds
That won’t yet win at shows.
I love have known the third point shown
But to the world I’ll state:
The other breeds are good enough,
But Polish: They are great!