Dogs and Vermin

Another thing I remember taking place at dusk,
In the same village, locals thought it was a must.
Country men in those days kept a terrier type of dog,
For carrying out this task, they were just the job.

When wheat was stacked, before the threshing stage,
Surrounded by a four foot high chicken wire cage.
Men were armed with sticks, two-pronged fork on end.
Fork whipped on, sticks sturdy, so they wouldn't bend.

Then the stack was diminished from the top,
Dogs were lifted into the cage, there to stop.
When the 'haystack' got to about chest high,
Dogs squealing with excitement, I wondered why.

Men inside cage, sticks in one hand, torch in other.
Then I saw why all were excited. Oh, brother!
At first vermin would peek out, hardly ever seen;
Then rats, moles, mice came out in a steady stream!

Squealing and leaping, like hot-footed frogs,
Trying to avoid the sticks and the terrier dogs.
Good dogs would with one bite kill; let it go;
It had two or three vermin before you would know!

Some dogs got bitten, owners egged them on,
Before you'd know, the vermin were dead and gone.
The next day the wheat stacks would go to a threshing machine,
Some worked with tractors, but most from a steam driven dream.

These huge steam engines, now only seen at shows.
Belts, pistons, fly wheels, everything that goes.
Used to run all sorts of things then, almost everywhere,
From pulling huge ploughs across a field, to a country fair.