Goat Wars, Part 4

Saturday, June 7th, 2008

The police in our town historically do not like to bother the citizens they protect. They don’t like to intrude upon their homes. They hate to get involved in disputes between neighbors. Live and let live. And because everyone in this town is someone you encounter on a regular basis, officers feel especially awkward handing out citations for stupid laws like “animal at large.”

The younger officer who issued my mother’s citation said to her, “Now, ma’am, you can pay the fine. Or…” And at this point, his voice gained a nudge-nudge/wink-wink as he spoke, “…you can take your neighbor to small claims court.”

My mother is as sharp as a knife, and the officer’s emphasis was not lost on her. They both knew that the courts don’t like dealing with bullshit — if she went to court, it was likely that her neighbor’s complaint would be dealt with in my mother’s favor or dismissed. The next day, mom drove to the city courthouse and spoke with the attending clerk, who asked her, “OK, ma’am, did you want to pay this citation or take it to court?”

“Court, please.”

“OK, then–”

She quickly interrupted, “When can we get a jury together?”

The clerk was surprised. “Jury?!”

“Yeah,” said my mom. “I want the biggest fucking trail I can get for my tax dollars!”

I love my mother.

Goat Wars, Part 3

Saturday, April 12th, 2008

Sometime later, my mother was performing her weekly chore of mowing the lawn with her John Deere. Zigzagging around in the summer heat, one hand occupied with the steering wheel, the other with a cold beer, she would draw straight, regular swaths across our rolling pastures. Earlier that week, Susan and Ed had decided to expand their menagerie through their purchase of a German Sheppard named Casey. It’s been said that animals resemble their owners, and Casey was no exception — the dog was quite dense.

Casey disregarded her owner and ran over to our property to bark at our horses and spread chaos. Ed clambered over the fence to retrieve his dog. He’d chase after the disobedient hound, but every time he came close to rounding her up my mother would pilot her riding mower between the two of them. Ed would get held up in traffic, Casey would pull farther away, and mom would reward herself with a chug.

This spectacle went on for nearly half an hour before Susan felt the need to help. She walked to the fence and prepared to climb it over to our side. Mother cranked the steering wheel, sped towards the fence, parked on the other side from Susan, stood high in the saddle, and sternly said, “Don’t you dare set foot on my property!”

Susan blanched and began, “How dare you take that tone with–”

Mother cut her off. “Don’t you lecture me! I’m a realtor and I know my rights. Set one foot over that fence and I’m calling the cops.” With great timing, my father stepped outside. Although he was some distance away, he witnessed these two women staring down one another. Susan turned to gaze towards my father, who returned the gesture by grinning, then demonstratively dialing the police on his cell phone. She climbed down from the fence and walked back to her house, and not for one second did she take her angry glare off my mother.

Somewhere down the line, my parents became visionaries by embracing Texas Hold ‘Em and hosting gambling night every Friday evening. All of our close friends would come over to play, drink, and smoke the night away. One night, a police cruiser drove up to the house. Two officers, a younger patrolman and his older partner, asked to speak to my mother.

Since our town was small enough that everyone knew just about everyone, we recognized the two. The younger cop also knew my mother and said to her in a friendly country drawl, “We’re reeeeeally sorry that we have to be here tonight, ma’am.” The officers were there because of the goat. It seems that Susan and Ed had grown tired of the goat trespassing upon their green pastures, and they had called the cops on us! Before the night was through, my mother was issued a citation for “animal at large,” one of the more obscure laws on the books.

And so began…The Goat Wars.

Goat Wars, Part 2

Monday, February 28th, 2005

Horses tend to get bored standing out in pastures all day waiting for their meals, so my family decided that ours could use some companionship. When I was in high school, we had a goat named X-Ray. He was previously owned by a friend of ours in Denton. I can still remember the night when my father and I drove to get him . . . we threw him into the back of dad’s truck, bound him to its bed with bailing wire, stopped at a 7-Eleven for the reward of a Big Gulp, and returned home with this strange beast. He was a great goat — until he suffered from an intestinal blockage and literally blew up. It seems the sucker got plugged up from swallowing something he shouldn’t, then filled with gas and split down the seams.

Years later, it was time to acquire a replacement goat. I have no idea where we got him, but soon enough we owned a tiny black-coated dude named Billy Ray Bracken. He was quite a friendly goat, with his constant companion being Rator, our Tennessee Walker gelding, followed by our other horses Missy and Casi. One day, our diplomat decided to expand his circle of friends. As Billy Ray often went wherever he wanted, this included going over, under — and through the fence to hang out with the neighbor’s horses.

Our neighbors Ed and Susan tolerated it for quite some time. But then one day, Susan approached the fence to have words with my mother. The conversation spiraled down hill faster than you can say “clusterfuck”.

“Get your goat off our property,” said Susan.

“Why,” my mother asked, “Did something happen?”

“Get your goat off our property.”

“What did he do?”

“Get your goat off our property.”

“Why won’t you explain–”

“Get your goat off our property.”

“I don’t understand–”

“Get your goat off our property.”

“You’re being a bitch–”

“Get your goat off our property.”

And so forth.

From that point on, I was often recruited by my father on fence-mending expeditions to prevent future goat excursions. If Billy Ray had battered down part of the fence, we would go out and build it back up. Should the beast have burrowed underneath, we’d drive wooden pylons deep into the ground to prevent future jailbreaks. Finally in the end, we strung up yards of electric hot wire. This seemed to do the trick, although every now and then Billy Ray would mysteriously find a way to keep seeing his friends next door.