|
A cool Summer morning in early June
Is when the Legend began:
At a nameless logging camp in Wexford County
Where the Manistee River ran.
Eleven lumberjacks near the Garland Swamp
Found and animal they thought was a dog,
In a playfull mood they chased it around
Till it ran inside a hollow log.
A logger named Johnson grabbed him a stick
And poked around inside,
Then the thing let out an unearthly scream
And came out...
And stood upright.
None of those men ever said very much
About what ever happened then,
They just packed up their belongings
And left that night,
And were never heard from again.
It was ten years later in '97
When a farmer near Buckley was found
Slumped over his plow, his heart had stopped,
There were dog tracks all around.
Seven years past the turn of the century,
They say a crazy old widow had a dream
Of dogs that circled her house at night...
They walked like men and screamed.
In 1917, a sheriff who was out a-walkin'
Found a driverless wagon and tracks in the dust,
Like wolves had been a-stalkin'.
Near the roadside, a four horse team
Lay dead with their eyes open wide,
When the vet finished up his examination,
He said it looked like they died of fright.
In '37, a schooner captain said
Several crew members had reported,
A pack of wild dogs roamin' Bower's Harbor,
His story was never recorded.
In '57, a man of the Cloth
Found claw marks on an old church door,
The newspapers said they'd been made by a dog...
He'd of had to stood 7 foot 4.
In '67, a vanload of hippies,
Told a park ranger named Quinlan,
They'd been awakened in the night
By a scratch at the window...
There was a Dogman lookin' in, and grinnin'.
In '77, there were screams in the night
Near the village of Belaire,
Could of been a bobcat, could of been the wind,
Nobody looked up there.
Then in the Summer of '87,
Near Luther it happened again
At a cabin in the woods, it looked like maybe
Someone had tried to break in.
There were cuts 'round the doors, could of only been made
By very sharp teeth and claws,
He didn't wear shoes cause he didn't have feet,
He walked on just two paws.
Legends are born of stories told,
Imagination without restriction.
But what does a legend become
When the truth outruns the fiction?
The decades come, the decades go,
People still swear they see,
Interlochen, Reed City, Mackinaw,
There was somethin' lookin' back at me.
And somewhere in the North woods darkness
A creature walks upright.
And the best advice you may ever get...
Is Don't Go Out At Night.
 Rydia Royu · Tue Oct 16, 2007 @ 03:00am · 0 Comments |
