My Goat Cart

My Goat Cart

During the four nearly four years I carried the evening newspaper in Decatur, Illinois, it was really tough for me to do all the bike riding or walking in the winter weather when there was snow and ice on the ground. One fine spring day my Uncle Harley told me he was going to build me a goat cart to ride my route and haul my papers. Dad had a nanny goat that he kept for the goat milk he needed for his ulcers. The billy goat was there to keep the nanny happy.

            Uncle Harley said, “We may as well put that billy goat to some use.” So he brought his tools and some lumber and started building the goat cart. He told me, “This will really help you. It should cut down the time it takes to run your paper route by at least half. You won’t have to make any trips back to get more papers; you will ne able to take all of them at the same time.”

            My uncle worked building the cart out in our partially-built garage. It only took him two or three days to build the frame and the riding box, and then he went out and purchased some old leather reins and harness from a farmer he knew. He cut the harness down to fit the goat and to fit me. He had bought two used bicycle wheels and somehow found an axle that worked.

            Several of our close neighbors came to watch the project take form, and after it was ready to take for a trial, they all gathered to watch. One of our good neighbors just across the street from us on the west corner, John, kept his yard immaculate and dropped his yard work to come and watch the trial run.

            Another neighbor suggested to Uncle Harley, “You will need a carrot on a pole dangled in front of old Billy if you want to get him to move.” He was right, so Uncle Harley decided to wait until the next day so he could build one. But John said, “Why not allow me to do that? I can have one ready in fifteen minutes. I have some long cane poles I once used for fishing; one of them will be perfect for that.”

            “Great, John, go ahead if you have the time,” my uncle told him.

            John scampered across the street, and in less than the time he said, he was back with a long cane pole with some string on the end holding a dangling carrot. He had me sit in the wagon box while he made an adjustment to the pole length.

            Soon I was ready. Billy was all harnessed up and Uncle Harley was holding him steady until all was in place. He told me, “Now just pull on the left rein if you want Billy to turn left, and if you want to go right, pull on the right rein. Are you ready, Sonny?”

            I looked around at the crowd watching me; there must have been twenty of our neighbors, plus all my family, including most of the aunts, uncles, grandmas and grandpas. Suddenly I was very nervous, but after a few seconds I said, “I think I am ready.”

            Uncle Harley told me, “For this first trial run, just go around the block and come back here so we can see how everything worked. Go ahead.” He turned Billy loose to let me start the great adventure.

            Suddenly, Billy took off with a mighty lurch that nearly sent me over the back of my seat, but I recovered and tried to guide him out of the driveway where we started. But old Billy had a mind of his own and he ran right straight through the side yard, destroying Mom’s large bed of petunias. Billy ran after that carrot as if there was nothing to stop him. He carried me through our front ditch, across the road and directly into John’s beautifully landscaped yard, tearing huge ruts as he went. I cried for Billy to stop. “Whoa, Billy, whoa!” I screamed, “Billy won’t stop!” Billy ran through John’s tulip beds and then across the yard and into the front ditch, which was much deeper than the other ditches in the area. Billy ran one wheel over the end of the culvert at the corner and the other wheel fell into the deep ditch, upsetting the entire cart and breaking the boards that held the harness in place. Billy was also dragged down into the ditch where he fell onto his side. I fell out of the seat and was tossed a few feet away onto the softer edge of John’s front yard.

            As soon as I recovered and sat up, I saw that Uncle Harley, Dad, and several neighbors all ran over to help me. “Are you hurt, Sonny?” Dad asked.

            My feelings were hurt, but I answered Dad, “I think I’m okay, just a little sore.” I had landed hard right on my rump and it was barking at me. Dad helped me up while Uncle Harley and John tried to get Billy up. Billy was lying on his side, but he did accomplish one thing; he got the carrot and was happily eating it. I looked over at the remains of the goat cart; it was in shambles, completely destroyed. Wood was all over the ditch and part of the street. Both of the wheels were badly bent and some of the spokes were out on the ground.

            A little later Dad, some of the neighbors, and Uncle Harley had the various pieces collected and brought them back to our garage. Dad turned to Uncle Harley. “Well, it was worth a try, but I don’t think any of us thought about how Sonny would stop Billy. There were no brakes he could apply, and I guess goats don’t follow the same rules as horses.”

            Harley looked across the street at John’s yard. “I’m just glad Sonny wasn’t hurt worse than he was. Now I wonder what I will have to do to help John get his yard back in shape.”

            I forget what the result of tearing up the two yards was, although I knew Mom would get her petunia bed back in due time. I’m pretty sure John took it all in stride and went about rebuilding his beautiful yard. Maybe Uncle Harley offered to help, which it seems he did, but how that all worked out, I long ago lost the details from my memory.

Here is a rough sketch of the goat cart. I am not good at drawing goats.

The End