03/31/2026
She wasn’t born in a palace—
no velvet bed, no golden name—
but out here where the dirt meets calloused hands,
she rose a queen just the same.
Our Catahoula Queen,
with eyes that read the wind,
a heart stitched into every acre
of this life we’re living in.
Penny…
You run the fence lines at sunrise
like you’re counting blessings in hoofprints and dew,
checking every corner of Cove Creek
like it all belongs to you—
because it does.
You’ve chased shadows from the chicken yard,
stood guard while the ducks tucked in,
and watched over every small, fragile life
like they were your own kin.
You don’t wear a crown—
just dust on your paws and pride in your stride,
a quiet strength in your watchful gaze,
and a loyalty you never hide.
When the storms roll over the Ozarks,
and the sky cracks open in gray,
you don’t run… you stay close,
pressed tight, like you’re holding fear at bay.
You’ve walked beside our children,
gentle where the world is not,
a steady shadow, a living promise
that love can’t be bought.
There’s wisdom in your silence,
more truth than words could ever say—
because you’ve never needed language
to show us you’ll always stay.
Not just a dog…
not just a hand on the farm…
You are the heartbeat in the background,
the calm in the chaos,
the guardian of every fragile thing
we’ve built with hope and loss.
And long after the chores are done,
and the sun sinks low in the west,
you lay your head down beside us—
still watching… still blessed.
Our Catahoula Queen…
not crowned in gold,
but in mud, in love, in memory—
and a story that will never grow old.
