Three fingers on his right hand, where five used to be.
An embarrassment to him it was plain to see.

 The way it happened on that fateful day.
The neighbor's milk cow decided to stray.

 The dogs had it trapped in the wife's garden there.
He grabbed his rope and ran out, not a minute to spare.

 As fate would have it, he roped the horns on the very first throw.
Then around the garden they did go.

 He took a dally on a stout corner post.
That's when two fingers gave up the ghost.

 Well you would think fingers could be sewed back on.
But those damn dogs grabbed em, and they were gone.