THE GOAT THAT KILLED MEASLES

Daddy never could stand to be too crowded. When too many neighbors began to surround us he would find new territory to pioneer. This was the case during the summer I finished the 3^rd grade at Tioga Elementary. Daddy had purchased land in the country outside of Alexandria. We were to build our dream home. Our farm ran from Jackson Street Extension all the way back to Prescott road. There was a house on each side of us and that was it. The property where Brame Junior High is was our cotton field, Mohon Street, our pasture lane.

 

 We moved our cows, horses, Daddy's hunting dogs, our pet dogs, pet goat, the whole menagerie and all 6 of us to the country.



 

We built a barn and a lovely brick house whose fireplace had enough bricks in it to build a small house itself. It was heaven for us free range children.

I was old enough now to have my share of chores along with my brother. The main one was to feed the dogs daily. Since my brother and I never could get along peacefully, we devised a plan of taking alternate days to feed, which truth be told never worked out for us because I had to help him on his days because he was only 5.

Daddy had six hunting dogs. Next to the barn he built a pen with a six foot high fence. A tree was in the middle of it for shade. Each dog had his house. I could not tell you the name of any of these dogs except for one...Measles, a short hair pointer.



Measles

 

Measles seemed to be different from the other dogs. Measles loved to climb the tree and stretch out on one of the limbs like a leopard. Granted, we were not allowed to play with these dogs for they were trained to hunt, not be pets. But Measles seemed to be the exception. Maybe it was the fact that he loved climbing that tree. We made a habit of petting Measles whenever we fed the dogs. Bobby and I encouraged him to try to climb higher. This was probably the one thing my brother and I agreed on.

Among the animals we brought to the farm was a pet goat named Billy.

 

 

 We had begged daddy to get it for us when we lived in the Paradise community. We were going to train it to pull a small cart around the yard, we told him. Training never happened. The goat was too stubborn and was always getting into and out of everything. He was a headache to us. Billy just wouldn't be controlled. On more than one occasion we were butted by this monster. (Note that we, of course, were innocent as to why the goat became mean).



 

 

Billy goat was in the barn lot. The hunting dogs were protected by a fence. Everyone was safe. It was late in the evening, almost dark and I, again, had been sent to feed the dogs since neither one of us claimed it being his day to feed.

I had just finished feeding the dogs and had exited the dog pen when Measles wanted to play.



 

This was the day Measles paid attention to our teaching him to climb higher on the tree.

 

 He climbed higher, barking for our attention, then he climbed the limb that stretched over the barn's tin roof, jumped off, scurried across the hot tin and jumped into the barn lot. Bobby and I ran to get Measles. While we were playing with the dog, Billy goat ran, head down, butting position, and hit Measles so hard that he was thrown across the lot, knocking both of us down as well.

   Measles was dead.

Bobby and I were too scared and didn't know what to do. How were we going to explain why that dog had gotten into the barn lot? After all, we had never told Daddy that we had befriended the dog and certainly never told him we encouraged Measles to climb that tree. Like cowards we left that poor dog lying in the lot. I could hardly sleep that night.

 

Daddy was to find his precious hunting dog the next morning.

I feel ashamed and guilty now that neither Bobby nor I ever let Daddy know the real story behind his dog being found dead in the barn lot away from his pen.

Confession of an 9 year old farm boy.

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