Grinding through the garden…

Monument to yard art photo by Bing Bingham

Most people would have described the old International Scout as a rusting hulk—not Mike.

“There’s not much wrong with it,” he said, as he helped push it off the car trailer, “the engine has been rebuilt and the running gear is in good shape.”

He continued, “The ignition switch needs to be replaced and…Oh yeah…the driver’s door is missing too.”

Shorting the ignition wires, he steered while the strong battery ground this monument to Yard Art…

…RRRrrr…RRRrrr…RRRRrrrr…..

…backwards into a parking spot in my equipment yard. Then he left the ignition wires dangling beneath the dash and popped the gearshift into granny first before he hopped out.

I didn’t give the Scout another thought.

Later that summer, weeds threatened to overrun our equipment yard. I grabbed one of our weedeater goats and chained him to the bumper of the Scout. His job was to beat back the jungle of weeds.

I recall thinking the goat will probably climb into the Scout through the missing driver’s door. But, I figured few goat pebbles wouldn’t hurt the ambiance of that rusty treasure.

Again, I didn’t give the Scout another thought—until I heard a muffled goat scream.

Poking my head out the window, I saw the goat stuck upside down—horns wedged underneath the brake and clutch peddles—on the driver’s side floor of the Scout.

When the goat realized it had gotten itself into a pickle, it struggled. Mid-wriggle, it brushed against the dangling ignition wires. They shorted out and the Scout ground forward…

…RRRrrr…RRRrrrrrrr…RRRrrrrr……

…a few feet.

That vehicle movement panicked the goat further. He struggled again. And the Scout went grinding…

…RRRrrrrr…RRRrrrr…RRRrrrrr….RRRrrrrr…….

…a few more feet out of the equipment yard toward the garden.

By the time I got out the door, the goat was in a near-constant state of panic. He was struggling furiously. The thrashing shorted out the ignition wires almost continuously and caused the Scout to grind…

…RRRrrrRRRrrrRRRrrr……RRRrrrRRRrrrRRRrrr…RRRrrrRRRrrrRRRrrr…..RRRrrrrrrr…

…through the garden.

I jumped off the porch and ran to the wild-eyed, squalling goat—still on the driver’s floor—as he was making his way through my cornstalks. My first instinct was to yank on the goat’s hind leg to get his squirming body away from those shorting wires and bring the Scout to a halt.

That didn’t work and the goat screamed louder.

I walked alongside the crawling Scout, toes scrunched, so the slowly rolling tires wouldn’t squash my feet. Then standing on tiptoes, I reached to the goat’s horns near the gearshift and rolled him out on the ground.

The screams quit, the Scout stopped and my racing heart slowed.

I turned around and the goat—completely unhurt—was peacefully nibbling at the corn as if nothing had happened. Shaking my head, I undid his chain, walked him out of the garden and rehooked him on a different vehicle.

Then I spent a couple hours dragging the Scout out of the garden, through the path of destruction and returning it to the equipment yard.

It was a week later when I called Mike. He was so busy laughing that I forgot to tell him about all the goat pebbles on the floor of the Scout.

Somehow, though, I don’t think he’ll mind.

Bing Bingham is a writer, rancher and storyteller. He’s still grumpy about his corn. If you want to see this and other stories, check http://bingbingham.com/blog/