Part One
Wayne's mother wanted to make cheese from goat's milk. One day his dad, Ogelthorpe, drove his rattle-trap pickup into the farmyard, honked the horn to let us know he'd returned from the sale barn, then jumped out to open the tailgate. Wayne and I ran to see what he'd bought. In the back of the pickup stood a brown and white goat. Her horns were well developed, wide at the base, and tapered to sharp points. Their color was a pleasing blend of brown and amber. Little ridges of growth rings accented their curvature which caused them to almost touch the back of her neck. Ogelthorpe, everyone called him Ogel for short, told us, "Okay, boys, get her out of there." The goat bowed her neck when we approached. We paid her no mind as we clamored onto the tailgate. Twelve year old Wayne feared nothing. He reached for the closest horn and gave a tug. The goat shook her head, twisted out of his grip. Wayne got a stubborn look as he took a horn in each hand. He pulled and tugged for all his worth. The goat shook her head, planted her feet, refused to budge. Ogel said, "That's the way, drag her out of there." I thought about helping but didn't want to cut in on Wayne's success. The goat lowered her head as she started making strange goat noises, braying and baaing at the same time. She sounded very unhappy. Wayne's work shoes slipped on the metal floor of the truck, making it a pretty even tug of war. Ogel reached up to help. Ganging up on her made the goat mad. She gave up her position all of a sudden, rammed her head into Wayne's stomach. He went "Ooof," then fell back into Ogel. Ogel went "Ooof," too, and lost his balance. He started backpedalling but his feet didn't keep up with his momentum. He might not have hit the ground if he hadn't tried to catch his hat when it flew off, just as he stepped on the cat's tail. She nailed him with a sharp claw. I laughed like a ninny. The goat took a stiff-legged step my direction so I bailed off the tailgate. She could have the whole dad-blamed pickup as far as I was concerned. Wayne's family don't give up easily. Wayne went to the barn to get the lariat. I could see Ogel meant business. He frowned at the goat with a look of solid determination. I felt a certain tension in the air as he and the goat glared at each other. Ogel didn't even say thank you for the lariat. His jaw muscle clenched repeatedly so I knew the goat was in for it now. She stood spraddle-legged in the middle of the pickup, daring Ogel to move her. It was showdown time in the farmyard. I didn't know if Ogel was a good cowboy or not. He shook out a loop, stepped closer to the tailgate. The goat raised her head, looked him right in the eye. Ogel said, "Now, goat, you're coming out of there!" He gave a toss which missed and the goat took a quick step his direction. Ogel jumped back with a startled look on his face. The goat backed into her former position. Ogel's jaw muscle started working again but the goat stared him right in the eye. I didn't think she had a chance. Ogel tried again, snagged both horns. He pulled but the goat stayed like an anchor. She shook her head, said "Braah" like she meant it. Ogel grunted in return. The dust in the yard let Ogel's shoes slip. He put one big foot up against the tailgate for leverage and gave a tremendous jerk. The goat slid about two feet on stiff legs. The tailgate flipped up into place with a loud crash. Ogel's foot slipped over the top of the tailgate. His other foot slid under the pickup. He did a fair imitation of the splits. The goat took a short run at the foot sticking over the tailgate, butted it hard. The tailgate happened to be the kind you had to hook a pin into, so it didn't latch. When she butted Ogel's foot away, the tailgate fell down. It bopped him on top of his head. He grunted in pain, his eyes crossed, he slowly fell back beneath the pickup. The goat looked silly with the lariat hanging on her horns but there could be no doubt who was winning so far. Ogel laid in the dust for a while, staring up at the pickup tailgate. When he had his plan all thought out he got up, climbed into the cab of the pickup, and started the motor. Wayne asked, "What are you going to do, Dad?" "I'm going to unload the *#*#+! goat." Some of the words I'd never heard before so filed them away for future use, in case I ever got in a tangle with a goat. Ogel ground the gears as he shifted into reverse. He let out the clutch while he stomped on the gas. The pickup gave a high whine, the back wheels spun, thick clouds of dust enveloped the entire yard. I could see Ogel's face through the window. It had a half-crazed look, like this was time to do or die. I understood his plan. He intended to hit the brake after getting up to speed. The goat would slide out the back of the pickup whether she wanted to or not. The tires started gripping and the pickup gained speed. Wayne and I ran beside the pickup, not wanting to miss his dad's victory. We had a hard time keeping up because Ogel kept pouring on the gas. I started shouting, "Now, Ogel, now!" Wayne and I both took to shouting, but the goat had her head turned so she and Ogel looked at each other through the back window of the pickup. I guess that's why he didn't see the chicken house. The roof had new shingles complimenting a nice paint job. It had a wire enclosure at one end and cobwebby windows in the front. The pickup went completely through it. The noise of shattering, cracking boards, and breaking glass drowned out the whine of the high revving pickup engine. The pickup came out the other side with a load of squawking chickens and a hard-headed goat. The chicken house roof fell in causing one gable end to slowly fall over into the fenced yard. Some of the fat hens who had never before been off the ground were flying hard about twenty feet in the air. Air borne chickens cackled for right of way but collisions were the order of the day. Chicken feathers were everywhere. The pickup crashed to a noisy stop against the biggest mulberry tree in the yard. Mulberries rained down like soft hail. They added a colorful contrast to the drifting airborne feathers. Wayne and I were struck dumb in silent awe. The tailgate fitted itself around the tree in a perfect U shape. Other than that I guess Ogel's plan worked perfectly. The goat slid out of the pickup, reminding me of a marble shot out of a slingshot. For a minute we saw nothing but legs, ears, and horns as she tumbled through the garden fence behind the tree. Luckily, the lariat fell off while she traveled in mid-air. Wayne and I picked up a few mulberries but they were covered with too many feathers to be edible. The goat seemed to enjoy the vegetable tops and pea pods she nipped off as she stood unharmed in the garden. Ogel ignored us when we jumped on the running board to tell him the goat had unloaded. He just stared through the windshield into the far distance. The next day we threw away the tailgate. It took us that long to pry it off the mulberry tree. End - Part One
Ray Lubben vaquero@smgazette.com Ray has three different books for sale. Monte Jack (western novel), Stray Dogs (short stories and poetry), and Cowboy Rhymes & Other Times (poetry). Monte Jack costs $7.00, the other two $5.00 each, plus add $3.00 postage each. Allow a couple weeks delivery time (unless it is Elk hunting season.)
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