 During a long, hot, late July summer's day, back in the early 50's, a group of neighborhood boys and myself got the ingenious idea to catch and sell wild goats. Brain storming some idea's, one of the fellows suggested we milk and make cheese for sale. In the northern hills of West Virginia, July is the month to pick wild blackberries. Each morning for three or four weeks, consisted of taking a three mile hike to a berry patch located on a Moody Run hilltop. The farmer, Mr.. Shaver, never seemed to mind that we picked the berries. My father stressed to each of us the importance to respect; his farm, barbed wire fencing and cattle. We would slide on our stomachs to get under the fence or hold the fence apart for each person to get though it. Any destruction of property would surely put an end to our berry picking on his farm. For some unknown reason, a herd of two dozen goats had made their home in the berry patch and were constantly darting in and out of the brushy areas. Who owned the goats was a constant question being asked. Finally, one of the fellows who knew the owner said, "The goats are wild!!!" He further added, "If anybody catches one, it was their's to keep." It was this confirmation by one of my expert buddies that leads me to tell this story. The Little League Baseball season had ended, and with little rain, fishing had come to a standstill. The thought of catching a goat became an exciting idea. After all, no one owned them, and "finders keepers" seem to be the, "in" word. Saturday morning, we all set out to catch a wild West Virginia goat. The group consisted of the preacher's son, and three of my neighbors. As the job of catching one of these elusive ghost unfolded, it became apparent I was the only person fast enough to catch one. No matter what plan we put together, the goats seemed to evade us. Cows had eaten paths several feet wide throughout the patch making it easy to sneak. Finally, I suggested that we hunt like the Indians and crawl slowly through the berry patch on our hands and knees. Several tries ended in failure which led us to find a shade tree on the upper hillside overlooking the patch. Resting under the tree, we could look down on the patch and see any approaching goats. No sooner had the fellows said they were tired and wanted to go home; here came the goats dancing through the barbed wire fence. This time we could see their exit routes. I suggested the guys sneak around and block the various routes. That would place me in an ambush position along their barbed wire escape lane. The guys began to close the trap and here they came jumping past me. First the little ones came--then an old Billy goat jumped past my hiding position. At last, a large nanny goat ran to the fence, hesitated, looked over her shoulder, and made a mad dash to run with the herd. With her main concern behind her, she failed to see me crouched in a thicket of small saplings, and as she passed, I lunged out and grabbed her hind leg. I don't know how many of you have ever gabbed a frighten goat. All I can say is, "don't underestimate their strength." The nanny's height barely measured to my hip; however, her strength was like a full grown bull. The nanny pulled with me kicking and yelling for help, as she dragged me through every rip shin, green briar, and blackberry thicket she could find. When she finally got tired and fell to the ground bellowing for help, I leaped on her and held her large horns. I couldn't believe I had survived and had caught my first wild goat. When the other boys got to me, I had already hog tied her and had everything under control. I felt proud like a true wild west cowboy. Everyone was full of "gee's" and "ah's" for me, when finally someone said, "Look at you!!!" I looked down to find the goat's efforts to get away way had not been in vain. In the process of dragging me through the briars, it had tore my shirt and pants nearly off my body and my legs and arms were bleeding. My pride far out weighed the scratches as the guys congratulated me for my ability to hold on to our prize goat. In all of the excitement, we had failed to notice the farmer who had approached and was observing our success. We allowed the goat to stand and was leading it through the blackberry patch, when he yelled, "What do you think you are doing?" We stopped immediately and turned around to see him only a few yards from us. He demanded we turn the goat over to him and for all of us to leave his property. We were not about to give up our free West Virginia wild goat. Down the hill we ran, taking every short cut we knew. When we got to the bottom, the farmer had not lost any ground and was right be hind us. Once more he yelled, "Give it up!" I made one last, fatal move. I turned around to face this man who would take away our prize. "No sir, no sirree," I said in a proud voice, this goat is wild and it is our for the keeping. The farmer stood his ground like an ancient dragon with fire shooting from his throat and said, "I don't know your names, but I know who you boys are, and I am going to tell your dads." If I had not turned around that last time, I think things would have been cool, but I just couldn't keep my big mouth closed. The farmer was a coal miner like most farmers trying to keep their farms. They all had to work two jobs just to stay a float. When we got home, my father, brother and his friend Scot were waiting on the back porch for us. The farmer told my dad we were cattle rustling.....his cow had fallen down and broke a leg. He said he was going to put us all in jail. My brother Frank and Scot, who was going to go to law school said, they would take our case. The farmer soon arrived at our home and began to demand money for his cow. My brother and Scot told the farmer, there was no reason to put us in jail. They explain they were going to pay for the cow, and expected the cow in return. The farmer was surprised by the proposal and said, "Well, I don't know about that." Frank got real loud....Scot stood up and agreed with my brother. The phone rang inside the house and things got quiet--my mother appeared at the door. She held out her hand to the farmer and said, "Fine, here is the money and we want twin baby calves too." The farmer was really taken by the volley of words from my mother, brother and Scot. He began to spit tobacco juice, stammer and cough like he was going to throw up something. Finally under his breath, he whispered I made an honest mistake and you can keep the goat. Mother interrupted saying, she was told on the phone by his wife, the cow had laid down to have her calves and never had a broken leg. My dad who was a very forgiving man, told Mr. Shaver to come in and have supper and forget all about it. That evening we ate roast beef, potatoes, carrots, and home made bread with the farmer. An enemy one minute and a friend sharing our table the next. At first, I was a little confused by all of this sharing. But it finally dawned on me, my parents were teaching me a lesson of life....no one needs a new enemy....there are already plenty of them without making another. When the farmer left that evening, he held my shoulder, told me to come visit him and bring him some of that delicious goat cheese. Everyone seemed to think it was a good joke and had a good laugh. My father waved farewell to him and yelled, "See you at the mine in the morning." Looking back on that incident, I wondered if it was all planned to teach me a lesson. You remember that nanny goat.....it never gave me an ounce of milk. I took it to Margaret Ice, my farm neighbor and ask her to try her expert grip at milking. She looked at my arms and then at my legs. She sat there for the longest time without saying a word rubbing my arm with a sad look on her face. She said, "Joey, the best thing you can do is take the nanny home to her children." That evening I walked the three mile trip to Moody Run and climbed the big hill to the goat herd. When we got there, her twin kids came running to us and started to suckle. The nanny was turned loose, but she stayed beside me until her kids had their fill. I stroked her head and petted her back one last time and then lost site of her as she moved through the berry patch.....her home sweet home. |
