STEPHEN COWIE Stephen Cowie, Veterinary Surgeon, Keith, asked Auld Broon to compose a poem to mark his retirement. 1. Fin Stephen Cowie left the skweel, he wis a loon sae young an' raw, Now if Stephen Cowie comes through yer byre, now every coo wid ken, Copyright © Mrs E Henderson 2004
By Simon Brown
He didn'a ken fit he wid dae, fur he hid no plans at a',
He thocht he wid jine the navy bit he wis feart kind at the sea,
So Stephen took it in he's heid that a vet he'd like tae be.
They'd look up an' stop their atein' an' say, here's that damnt mannie here again,
Fur he's jabbed us in the neck an' hips, he jist jabs us richt an' left,
An' it's a good job the mannie's retirin' or we'd hae nae hale skin left.
But Stephen's father says tae him, you could work a while wi' me,
Fur fermin' is a healthy job, it'll dae ye guid ye'll see,
You could rise up in the mornin' an feed the hens an' pigs,
An' dae ony ither little job, it'll help ti pey yer digs.
Now if yer sheepies lyin' in the park, deid sick an' scarce a' win',
Steve wid gae ye a han'fa a' pooders an' say, man that's the very thing,
Bit fin Steve gaed back intil he's car, he says Lord that sheepie did look bad,
I'd been as weel tae tell that mannie the truth, an' go richt hame fur he's spad.
Then you could go til the neep pairk, fur there's swedes ti heid an' tail,
An' efter you've four load o' them, you could cut a load o' kale,
Bit Steve got fair demented, he says this jobs not for me,
An' he set sail for Edinburgh an' a vet he wid learn tae be.
Noo if yer piggies lyin' in the sty, it winna ate nae mair,
It disnae maiter fit ye gie it, it disnae seem tae care,
Bit Stephen Cowie would come alang an' a couple of jabs he'd gie it,
An' A'm sure within an 'oor or twa, yer piggies on its feet.
But Stephen's troubles they were'na feenished, in fact it just begun,
Fur Stephen quickly realised, bein' a vet would be no fun,
He'd ti examin every beastie's beens, fae their nose down til their tail,
But Stephen crammed that knowledge in his heid, fur he could ill afford tae fail.
Noo if you hid got a herd o' beasts, wi sharp an' ugly horns,
Stephen Cowie wid snip them aff jist as easy as parin' corns,
Bit fin you go oot next mornin', Lord yer beasts they a look dour,
An' there's bleed a' spattered aboot yer place, like a second Culloden Moor.
But Steve came through that college, he came oot wi' honours high,
He said that he would cure folk's beasts, fae goats richt up tae kye,
Bit first he'd need a motor car an' that car it must be fast,
Fur he wis up in opposition wi' a place they caad Tarnash.
Now Keith's jist like ony ither place fin the cats get on the prowl,
They'll keep ye waukened tae hauf the nicht, as they div meow an' yowl,
So ye'll get that cat intil a box, jist as fast as you can make it,
An' tak it roon tae Cowie's place and they will cast-a-rate it.
Now it's easy bein' a doctor, folk can tell ye far their sair,
Bit it's diffirent wi a beastie, they just lie an' moan an' stare,
But that's far Stephen's knowledge cam in, 'at he'd stored up in he's heid,
An' there's plenty beasties livin' the day, 'at wid sure enough be deid.
Now things is changed in my time, as the years they hiv rolled on,
The fermers they're a mechanised an' the work horse they've a' gone,
A myn' fan I wis at the skweel, the vet hid jist a shelt an' gig,
Bit the cattle they were less numerous, here an' there a breedin' pig.
Noo if yer calfies legs are hingin' doon an' it looks a bitty dour,
Yi should easily ken the symptoms, that calf's gaun tae tak the skoor,
But ye must get Stephen Cowie oot, although ye'll kenfit he will dae,
He'll put his haun' intae his pooch an' say, try it wi an M an' B.
Noo Stephen's trauchled lang an' sair, an' hid mony a weary nicht,
Bit noo that he's retirin' he can afford tae tak things licht,
So here's tae Stephen Cowie, fae a' you fowk an' me,
Fur Stephen kept yer stirkie livin', fan you wis sure that it wid dee.
Noo if yer coo she didna ate her neeps, an' she looks a bitty dowie,
Jist dinna be a day or twa or ye phone fur Stephen Cowie,
For Steve wid tell ye tae watch yer beast, an keep on the alert,
Or you'll see far your coo will land - intil the knacker's cairt.
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Stephen Cowie, Veterinary Surgeon, Keith, asked Auld Broon to compose a poem to mark his retirement.
Fin Stephen Cowie left the skweel, he wis a loon sae young an' raw,
Now if Stephen Cowie comes through yer byre, now every coo wid ken,
Copyright © Mrs E Henderson 2004