Toads Are Cute Forever; Chickens Are Cute A little While; Goats Are Goats

 The following is again a fictionalized version of Goat (From ALL ROADS LEAD SOMEWHERE). But he was real and a part of our lives. As they say on Dragnet, "The story is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. Goat indeed twirled Arville around on his horns.  

                                                                   GOAT

        Opal sat on the chopping block in the chip yard until the goat pushed her off.  She uprighted herself and scratched his neck. He nuzzled closer to her. He was a wonderful goat. He walked around with his head lowered, butting his big horns gently against anyone who came near. Even though he had never hurt anyone Opal's mother was afraid of him. But Opal and her sister Kaye and her brother, Carl, knew Goat only wanted to be friends.

            "Op--al",  her mother called as she looked out the kitchen door. "I sent you to fetch wood, not to play with Goat." Opal tried to pretend she had not heard her mother, but to little avail. "Now you quit playin' with Goat and git that wood in here."

            Opal gave Goat a gentle push and began to collect the wood. But Goat,

unimpressed with the immediacy of her task, wanted to play. He butted her in the rear, causing her to drop her armful of wood. "Now Goat, you stop that. I mean it.  If you don't you'll git me a switchin', and then I won't play with you no more."

            Goat stood with tilted head and watched as she picked up her wood again.  He followed her to the house and would have entered with her had not Marthie, standing near the stove, said, "Opal, don't you go lettin' that nasty goat in this house."

            Opal closed the door in Goat's face. "You go pester Kaye a while," she said. The goat with no intention of leaving stood with his nose against the screen door. Opal shook her head, and feeling that Goat was not impressed she shook her finger. "Now you better wait right there," she commanded. Then to her mother she said, "Mommie, he ain't no nasty goat.  He's a nice goat."

            "It ain't fittin' for a goat to be hanging around a house like he was a cat or dog.  Goats is farm animals and  they belong out in the pasture or in the barn like other farm animals."

            "But Goat's different.  He ain't no plain animal."

            Goat stood at the door, proving his superiority over ordinary farm animals. What other animal including goats could push open the door at will and enter a house, with no consideration of the damage he might do?  With tilted head Goat watched as Opal dumped her wood in the big box. "And we need to fetch water," Marthie said. She took the wooden bucket and handed the zinc one to Opal.  Goat stepped aside and watched as they went to the well.  Then he gingerly hooked his horn in the screen door handle, opened the door enough to put in his foot and swing it wide open. He went in, as he had done on several occasions, and wandered through the kitchen to the front room where he stood surveying his surroundings.

            He did not see Marthie come in with her water; he did not see her enter the front room with her broom, but he soon learned she was there. For she swung her broom wildly at him and screamed, "Git out'a here. You git out, you nasty goat."  Goat moved aside but Marthie came after him with her broom poised to strike. He jumped on the bed and stood tenuously on the unstable spring and mattress. Spreading his feet and getting his footing he defiantly faced Marthie. She swung her broom at him again and again, but he tossed his head from side to side foiling her attempts to hit him.

            "Op--al," she called. "Go git Daddy right now to git this goat nasty out' a here."

            Opal came at once to see and could not help but laugh, but her laughter was cut off when Marthie gave her a swift swat with the broom. "Now you go git Daddy or git that 'blamed' goat off my bed."

            Opal knew she needed to act for her mother never called anything "blamed' unless the situation was serious. She reached for Goat's horn. He lowered his head and under her urging stepped off the bed and followed her outside. She lectured him for a long time about riling her mother. Goat tilted his head and listened, but he seemed unimpressed.

            When Lester came from his farm chores Marthie, in the middle of frying potatoes for supper, told him in great detail her woes with Goat. "And he was right in the middle of the bed, daring me to try to git him off."

            Opal watched her father and when he smiled broadly she broke into laughter. He joined her. Marthie was not amused. She banged her spatula hard against the cast iron skillet. "It ain't funny."

            "He's just a pet, Marthie. He wouldn't hurt a fly. You know that."

            "No, I don't know nothin' like that. All I know is he's a danger. The way he comes at you, he'd scare the livin' daylights out'a anybody. And he jumped right up on the bed.  And this ain't the first time he done it. You can't tell me there's any goat that's got any business on the bed."

            "Marthie," Lester said, "He does that to you because he knows you're afraid of him. He just does it to you, Marthie. Look at the way he plays with Opal and Kaye and Carl.  Look at the way he picks up Carl on his horns and spins him around.  It's a big game. With everybody but you he's as gentle as can be. Why I reckon he's ever bit as gentle Wimpydog ever was. And you're not scared of him, are you?"

            "And Goat's a whole lot a better pet, even than Whimpydog," Opal said.

            Carl and Kaye,  home from playing in the creek, listened as they wiped mud from their feet.  Carl said as he entered the kitchen, "Mommie, I like Goat.  He lets me ride on his back and he can lift me right off'n the ground with his horns and swing me around like I'm flying"

            "Me too,"  Kaye said. "You ought to see us spin, Mommie."

            Marthie did not need to hear this a second time. "I never heard of anything so ridiculous. You could git hurt doin' that. I'm tellin' you, Lester, that goat is nothing but trouble. And I'm tellin' you another thing-- if he don't stay out'a this house, I'm gonna take care of it myself.  I'm gonna feed him rat poison."

            "No," Opal and Kaye screamed. Carl began to cry.

            Lester said, "Now kids, Mommie ain't really going to poison Goat. But you're going to have to keep Goat out'a the house. Now do you think you can do that?" He smiled weakly. Three children waited for what he would say next.  "Now Marthie, the kids is goin' to take care of him. They're goin' to keep him out of the house. You can quit your worryin'  Ain't that right?." He pointed to the children waiting for their promise.

            Opal and Kaye nodded; Carl lowered his head as if he did not understand. Marthie rolled her eyes and shook her head. Lester said, "Now that's settled. You kids see that Goat stays outside where he belongs.  Right now let Mommie finish supper. Come on. you can feed the chickens while I see to the pigs. And whatever else you do, all three of you, see that Goat does not come near the door."

            No sooner had they left for their chores than Goat came to the kitchen door and stood peering inside. Marthie snarled at him. "Git away from that door or I'll git the broom to you." Goat waited. When Marthie's back was turned he caught the screen door handle with his horn and pulled. He put his foot in the narrow crack and opened the door. Marthie heard the door close and turned. "You kids git in here and git this goat or I'm goin' to put out rat poison," she screamed as she ran at him with her broom in strike position. He ran past her into the front room and  jumped onto the bed where he took his defensive pose and waited until Opal removed him. "I swear I'm gonna feed that goat rat poison," Marthie said as Opal led the goat into the yard where Carl and Kaye began to play with him.

Baby Chickens Are Cute Just For So Long

20.    A long flat box with holes in it came by mail from Sears  & Roebuck.  Baby chickens!  Baby chickens, fuzzy, cute,  alive and noisy.  So few dead after the trip from ‘wherever they came from’. Up to then our chickens were always Plymouth Rocks or Red Island Reds. These were White Leghorns with varied futures.

Imagine you are a baby White Leghorn in this place at this time. Your options are inexorably fixed.  Boy chick- expect to be Sunday fried chicken before winter arrives.  Girl chick – prepare to earn your keep .  Get into the egg laying mode, stay there and you will stave off the stew pot.

Ivy and I helped care for the chickens—daily filling food trays, cleaning water jars. The daily grind alone took its toll.  But to make matters worse those cute fuzzy ‘peeps’ became ugly feathered  greedy hostile chickens. 

JoeBunker Was A Toad

19. Many people remember the ditty ‘Jeremiah was a bullfrog’.   Few –very few- know that JoeBunker was a toad.  And an extraordinary toad.  For he was a family pet – as dearly loved as our mutt Wimpy.

On hot summer evenings with evening chores and supper done Mommie and Daddy sat on the bench at the corner of  the house while we kids, quite recovered from our ‘too tired to do one more lick of  work’ chased lightening bugs and each other.

The wooden rain barrel elevated off the ground by four well placed rocks was home to JoeBunker- a wonderfully healthy and handsome toad. We could not swear he understood  what we said when we talked to him or just responded to the sounds and sights around him (or in fact that he was a he and not a she).  But he always responded to   “Come on out JoeBunker” or “We got supper for you, JoeBunker”.

Nightly JoeBunker hopped from his home under the rain barrel and took from our hands the lightening bugs we caught for him. In the darkness enveloping us his throat shone with the final flashing of lightening bugs we fed him. Until he had his fill and hopped back under his barrel from which the faint light of his throat grew dimmer and dimmer and finally was no more.

Better Watch Out Or The Screech Owl Will Get You.

18.  My  ‘now I like you- now I hate you’ relationship with Ivy was no doubt founded by her pushing me into second place by her birth when I was but sixteen months old.  It did not help that she was cute – eliciting the nickname ‘Mug’.  Attempts to assign ‘Pug’ to me fell shallow.

Mug was okay and on good days we got along—as well as siblings ever get along.

We played together. We fought together. On good days Daddy ignored our squabbles. On bad days he threatened us with the razor strap. His most effective  effort was his threat –“If you keep up this fussin’ the screech owl will come and carry you away."  Even at six and seven we were smart enough to know no owl could do that.

It was November when darkness came early.  It was supper time.  At the table in the dining room Daddy sat at one end, Mommie at the other.  On the bench with our backs to the window Arville,  Ivy and I sat. I poked Ivy.  Ivy poked me.  After  poke followed poke  Daddy said, “Stop it before the screech owl swoops in and carries you away.”

Sure, we thought and continued the poking.

Then outside the window a horrific sound rang out.  A screech owl had perched in the tree just outside the dining room window.  In a fluid, no delay movement three children were off the bench under the table.

A New Baby Sister I Did Not Want

17.  For late October it was warm.  Mid- afternoon  Grandma Neely and  Aunt Rachael came.  Daddy hustled Ivy, Arville and me into the wagon and delivered us to Granny’s house.  In hushed  voices  Daddy and Granny talked.  Aunt Evil herded us into the back yard.  Aunt  Evil was described by relatives – especially the Neely’s—as queer and nervous. The Cardwells agreed but were more circumspect in their criticism because she did live with and care for Granny, relieving them of the problem.

Daddy came to the back yard. “You youngens  behave and do what Evil and Granny tell you. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Where you goin’, Daddy?” Ivy asked.

“Home.  I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Arville cried when Daddy left. “Stop you wailin’”, Aunt Evil said.

He cried harder. Granny took his hand. “I fancy you’d like a piece of stack cake.”

It was always fun staying at Granny’s.  A big front porch had a swing and two doors into the two front rooms. We occupied one room. Ivy and I in the bed with the fresh straw filled mattress—Arville on a pallet in front of the fireplace next  to the pump organ which Granny allowed us to play and abuse.

Later that night Granny gave us milk and more stack cake.

Daddy came for us the next morning.  Not until we were home to the Basin did Daddy say, “You got a new sister.’

Ushered into the front room we found  Mommie in bed.  Next to her a wiggly ugly baby.  What Ivy or Arville felt I do not know.  What I felt was real and painful.  I did not want her.  I wanted to send her back. I could not imagine another baby I would have to sit and hold when she cried.  I did not want Diane.

When I scowled and refused to come closer to look at her Daddy said “ Better pull in that lower lip. You might step on it and that’ll hurt.”