Jem, The Lancashire Heeler

A funny little bark
That sounds like a constant moan
Puts Jem, the Lancashire Heeler
In a class of her own

Her food is never served on time
The cows are always late for milking
The farm hands always pick on her
When the other dogs are left sleeping

Her coats too short for winter
And in summer it’s much too hot
Though she looks just like a Corgi
She’ll tell you she’s certainly not

And she’s not afraid to mention
That her seasons almost due
Not that she’ll let you near enough
For a casual sniff or two

And when the weather turns wet
She stands out in the rain
Yapping tirelessly at the cattle
As they amble down the lane

Her manner is quite sharp
When some adversary she’s confronting
Yet with other dogs she delights
In moaning, groaning and grunting

Her instinct is to be bossy
She’s got a nasty little nip
Which, when delivered to the Achilles
Makes the recipient skip

She’s the original Ormskirk Terrier
Skelmersdales persistent squall
The shortest Blackburn drover
The little lass from Eccleshall

She’s been around the houses
The cattlesheds and barns
From the shore of Morecombe Bay
To the lonely Pennine tarns

Jem, the Lancashire Heeler
Complains that all cows smell
Especially the ones she drives
Down the lanes of Stanford Dell

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