October 12, 2023
Look who I ran into in our front yard this morning.
Our Goathead Neighbor
Yes, our not-so-shy goathead neighbor walked right up to me and got all goaty (Please tell me those two eyes don't look like two conchos held on his head with leather straps through the center!).
"Don't call me Goathead!"
"Go ahead!" the medic said to the Pima In-din on the gurney, referring to the oxygen mask he was trying to get on the patient's head as they helicoptered him to the nearest hospital. "Go ahead! Go ahead!" To which the In-din replied dryly, "Don't call me Goathead."
True story, read it in the Arizona Republic.
"Whoa! That's My Rectum!"
Uno was not too thrilled with the smelling of the anus ritual which Mr. Goathead pursued with some vigor.
Hip Boot City
When I was just a kid (not a goat, but a child) I met this oldtimer who claimed Doc Holliday got in a gunfight on Brewery Gulch in old Bisbee. Of course I didn't believe a word he said but I enjoyed listening to his hot air. In the process of sharing a beer, or two, he produced this old photograph which he claimed was Doc Holliday, taken in Bisbee. He wanted $10,000 for it, but I paid for the bar tab (full disclosure $168.42) and we called it even.
"Don't call me Goathead."
Perhaps it's time for a podcast called "The Debunkers" a show run by serious scholars who take apart the old stories with solid evidence and sound reasoning, proving once and for all why most of what we believe about the Old West to be true is pure goathead material.
"Every time an oldtimer retells a story he gets closer to the center of the stage."
—Old Goathead Saying