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 |