Notes |
- Patrick McIntyre was a sheepherder, married to Genevive Smith. They lived in Heppner, Oregon.
Pat would herd sheep from Oregon in the spring to Glacier National Park to graze, and then back in the fall.
He died about 20 years after Genevive. She died March 6, 1949.
[This is only entry for Patrick McIntyre. It is probably not the husband of Genevive Smith McIntyre. There is no entry for Genevive McIntyre or Genevive Smith. David Myers]
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Patrick MCINTYRE
Birth Date: 5 Feb 1891
Death Date: Sep 1976
Social Security Number: 532-26-5569
State or Territory Where Number Was Issued: Washington
Death Residence Localities
ZIP Code: 97223
Localities: Garden Home, Washington, Oregon
Greenway, Washington, Oregon
Portland, Washington, Oregon
Tigard, Washington, Oregon
Pat McIntyre
A poem depicting a true incident in Montana 1965
In the Bible we read the Good Shepherd's creed,
"To lay down one's life for his sheep".
Our herder named Pat, nearly did just that,
But by faith and courage escaped the "big sleep".
By noon Pat could read, when the sheep wouldn't feed,
That a bear must be circling around.
There was no gun at hand to protect the band,
The limb of a tree was all that he found.
He stayed on his feet, waiting for a bleat,
with his dogs hovering close at his side.
There was nary a chance to get word to the ranch.
Now was the time, he must "fight or hide".
The bear come near, of course there was fear.
His heart nearly burst with its thumping.
Pat's eyes were bad, but good hearing he had.
He listened for bushes crackling and crumpling.
The sound of the bear sent his thin white hair
Straight upward and heavenly bound.
An old grizzly sow wanted to start a row,
But Pat stood firm and never gave ground.
When he had time to think, he wanted a drink.
His mouth was as dry as a bone.
He had to know thirst, the sheep came first.
He dared not for a minute leave them alone.
The bear wouldn't give up, took a swipe at his pup
And retreated to watch and to wait.
She stayed near the trees that quaked in the breeze
And the sun went down and the hour grew late.
Darkness came on, Pat had no coat to don,
But it was plain what he had to do.
The wagon far away, he just had to stay
And circle the sheep till the sky showed blue.
He prayed to God for the strength to trod
Through the hours of black and cold.
The night was dreary and his legs grew weary
But his spirit remained brave and bold.
By dawn's early light, Pat saw all was right,
The bear made not a single kill.
He had won the fight, his will was his might.
Now, his tired body shook from the chill.
When his story he told, of protecting the fold,
He was humble and spoke of his fear.
Said, "I might have run and never won,
except for my faith that the Lord was near".
When put to the test with all the rest,
I pray God will look with pride
On an old Irish gent, who one night spent
Protecting his sheep and didn't hide.
Dorothy Krebs
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