When I was a kid we had a neighbor that lived across the road named Art McKinney. He was one of the nicest men I’ve ever known. He was about 140 years old, weighed maybe 120 pounds if his boots was full of rocks. He had a large oversized beak for a nose that always dripped, and crooked wrists, twisted and swollen from arthritis.
He told me he broke both wrists when he was young from starting an old model T truck that he forgot to take outta gear. It pinned him up against the barn wall for hours before anyone found him, and he never made it to a Dr. to get his bones set.
He was a cowboy, rancher, and later a state live- stock inspector. His wife’s name was Ruby (she was no gem that’s for sure) and she was old and mean as a momma grizzly bear with a sore tooth. I don’t know if she was always that mean or if it just caught her in her old age. Art told me “Ruby is kinda mean, but don’t pay her no mind”, So I mostly stayed outta her way.
They had a small farm and grew hay for horses that they never rode, and for their daughter who did rodeo stuff.
I used to help him cut, bail, haul, and put up his hay. We were about the same speed, him being old and me being just a kid. He was a real patient man. I often times wondered if he even knew my name because he always just called me “lad.”
Anyway, one time Art come over asked me if I’d feed his stuff and water his hay while he went to see his daughter in El Paso for a while. He said he’d pay me real good, so I told him I would.
Now Art was one of them old superstitious kinda guys, and I guess getting shackled together with Ruby must’ve made him that way. He must’ve thought he hit a streak of bad luck when he hitched up to her and it made him want to change his luck. So by believing that hanging horseshoes over doors, laying out a loop to put your bedroll on so as to keep the snakes outta your blankets, scapegoats, and such was good for luck.
Now a scapegoat was supposed to keep the horses from catching diseases and getting sick.
So Art kept him a big old white billy goat with big ugly twisted horns with his horses. That billy goat was rank and smelled worse than any skunk (and believe me I’ve smelled my share). “Billy” would follow you around everywhere and snort.
So when the appointed time came I went to their house and knocked on the door to let Ruby know I was there. That old heeler dog they had started nipping at my heels first thing outta the box. Then Ruby opened the door while I was dancing a jig, and fell into a cussing rage and lit into me. I guess she’d had a bad night. She made my ears burn like fire and I don’t think I ever heard a grown man that could cuss like Ruby did that morning ever! So I tucked my tail and ran like a whipped puppy and headed for the barn. Guess I must’ve poked the bear as they say when I woke her from hibernation. Anyway, I fed the horses and headed to the field to start the water on the hay.
Now we called them tanks but they were just holding ponds that we pumped water in. They had a big gate valve on the inside that you had open to let the water out into the ditch. But you had to “walk the plank” to get to the valve. It was usually just a board, a 2 foot by 12 foot and about 10 feet long, and you’d bend over and turn the wheel on the valve.
Well I was gingerly making my way out on the plank to open the valve when suddenly I catch a whiff of something vaguely familiar. It was that old billy, but it was too late. Next thing I know, that old goat hit me right in the keister and I’m sent flying heels over head into that ice cold water. It was spring time and still a bit chilly, and on top of that, now I’m wet! When I surfaced, I was sucking in air like I’d just run a 49 mile marathon and I then see billy up on that plank, acting like he is the king of the heap. Licking his nose, shaking his head in triumph, and just looking at me. He let out a snort and I swear if I’d have had a gun, he’d have been shot dead!
That night, I dreaded the thought of having to return to such torture. But I was raised with the understanding that a mans word was his oath, and deal was a deal and not to be broken!
The next day was much better and as I passed by, knocking on Ruby’s door and the heeler stayed on the porch at the house. I also kept a keen eye on billy, as he eyed me the whole time plotting his next attack. But I got all the chores done without any further incidents.
After all that transpired, I understood why Art had packed up and went to El Paso to see his daughter. I’m not superstitious, but it sure makes a feller wonder whether you had a streak of luck like I had that day or if Art had to live with it all the time.
I’m not sure if it was worth the $2 per day that Art paid me (he thought that was good money), but I did it anyway. But I probably would’ve done it for nothing, though.
That’s just how much I liked old man McKinney.
I sure miss that old man, Ruby, that dog, and billy… well, not so much.
