i got two dogs.
one’s nice, one ain’t.
them two’s my babies–
called skillet and shotgun.
if the road weren’t muddy, sometimes i wouldn’t know where i’d been.
there’s my tracks, and theirs, one to either side.
skillet got burrs,
shotgun caught a pellet,
and my dress was torn, but i can’t recall how.
best as i can guess,
it was the same old song–
should’ve left the mean one home,
but one gets lonesome without the other,
so i turn ’em both loose
when the moon is full,
and the usual cautions don’t catch hold.