© Richard Netherland Cook
Listen to the Poem
Ole' Blue was a fine coon dog,
The finest that ever could be,
He would bawl away the night,
Until that ole' coon was up a tree.
Ole' Blue could run a cold trail,
Are one that was burning hot,
And one thing was for certain,
That ole' was sure to be got.
One cold night while on a hunt,
In the distance I heard a fight,
Between Ole' Blue and a big boar coon,
Breaking through the night.
Ole' Blues' cries grew close and loud,
And my heart began to pound,
I reached the scene, the coon was gone,
Ole' Blue lay on the ground.
My Ole' coon dog was in bad shape,
From the attack by coon that night,
His wounds were bad and it was sad,
He had put up a really good fight.
He died there as I held him,
And I did not think it was fair,
As the tears began to roll down my face,
For the ole' bluetick that was lying there.
Now the hunts want be the same,
Without my very best friend,
But Ole' Blue is in doggy heaven,
Chasing those coons again.