She’s always the last to come to the call,

That old red muley cow,

I’ve walked the field all morning to look for her,

But there she stands, back with the herd now.

She’s sure some more kind of cow,

She marches to her own drum,

She chews her cud, and watches me,

As she stands so wise and dumb.

All the tricks in the book, they are known by her,

And she uses them every one,

When the herd comes in for counting,

You can bet you’ll find her gone.

How old is she?

I’m not rightly sure, I know she has got some age,

She was born right here, on this here farm,

Her number’s on the 13th page.

She’s as likely to come at you, as to go the other way,

Don’t reckon I’ve ever seen her sick,

And seems like she’s scared of hay.

But she’s always fat and slick.

She’s ill enough, I’ll tell you,

To put the stock dogs up a tree,

Why back last April, in the chutes it was,

She laid both hind heels to me.

She’ll play at being midwife,

When the heifers start to calve,

She’ll stand close by and watch ‘em,

Then lead ‘em back up the path.

And woe to anyone, what gets too close,

I’m tellin’ you, man or beast,

She’ll come with head down and bellerin’,

If they’re smart they’ll take their leave.

I’ve watched her run a coyote,

Right through a wove wire fence,

And I reckon he’s still runnin’

For you know, I ain’t seen him since.

Her ma, she was a red limousine,

Of her that’s all I can say,

And her pa, he was the neighbor’s bull,

A big one-eyed charolais.

Now, her, I’ll tell you true,

Though I know you’re gonna laugh,

The only reason that she’s still here,

Is she always throws a calf.

Note: “muley” refers to a cow with no horns. It’s a term believed to have come from Irish Gaelic “Moiley” meaning to lack horns or to be bald.