Company was due the next day and we were short on chow
But we knew we’d have to find a way to feed them anyhow
Ma said there’s only one old hen that she could spare to stew
But even fixed with dumplings, it won’t feed that crew
We looked in the smokehouse, but there wasn’t much in there
Just some bacon and a ham hock hanging in the smoky air
So I said: a tender young goat is just what we need
We can have a barbecue and put on quite a feed
I’ll visit your dad, see if he’ll give me one from his flock,
While you soak some beans to cook with this here ham hock
So I hitched old Ben and put some sweet potatoes in a sack
Added a can of syrup and told Ma that by supper I’d be back
Wait, Papa, the kids came squealing, we want to go with you
So I loaded them in the wagon, what else was a man to do?
The lane through the woods was pretty on that April day
So we stopped and let old Ben graze a bit along the way
You kids hold on tight while we’re going up this hill
The road gets rough and we wouldn’t want to take a spill
At the Clayton place I told my father-in-law of our dilemma
And he said he’d pick me out a goat, right after dinner
At the table Arthur said, Duncan, would you say our grace?
So I thanked the Lord for the blessings poured out upon that place
They shared their simple meal, cornbread and peas was what we got
Then we went to see the goats he kept out in the back lot
We picked a young one and tied its feet to load in the wagon bed
Now we would have our barbecue and every one would be fed
I started for home pleased as punch, feeling the warm, spring sun
But little I knew, as we rolled along, that trouble had begun
I heard Lavelle whimpering, I guess ‘cause she knew what was in store
And with the little goat a-bleating, my girl cried even more
Then little Alvah started wailing and I wasn’t sure what to do
He said, because Sissy was crying, he thought he should too
So both of them were grieving, all because of a little goat
And it wasn’t long before I noticed a lump in my own throat
If these children could have compassion for a humble little beast
I figured we could make do without him for tomorrow’s feast
So around I turned and back I drove through the woods and up the hill
Found my pa-in-law and told him I had to back out of our deal
Ma killed that hen and cooked those beans--there was food for everyone
Our company was fed and all turned out well when the day was done
The moral of this story, and the conclusion of this tome
When you fetch a goat for dinner, leave the kids at home.
This poem is based on my mother’s recollection of an incident from her childhood, but I have told it from the point of view of my grandfather, Duncan Hatten, or at least how I imagine he might have written it. It resembles his poetry in tone and style. I have added some fictional points. In reality, the goat was not needed for any special event, but was just to satisfy a whim of my grandfather and his brother, Van, -- who lived with them -- for barbecued goat. My mother's grandfather was Arthur Perkins Clayton, a man I wish I had known.
Garry Breland 