George Singleton and Hercules, the whiskey-drinking billy goat

George Singleton

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “It’s not every day that the pet billy goat gets drunk” was originally published in the Oct. 16, 1986 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

I was not a bad boy during my early childhood back on the farm where I was raised. But, as my grandmother put it, I was “devilish” at times.

As with most young boys who grew up on a farm, there wasn’t a lot around to keep me tamed down and contented. There were certain chores to do, and then there was a certain amount of real work that had to be performed from time to time.

I was lucky to the degree that I was the youngest member of the family. The baby, so to speak. When you happened to be the baby, an awful lot of your chores could be performed by your older brothers and sisters if you played your cards right.

A boy with heavy hands

Television had not appeared on the scene during this time, and radios didn’t offer me a lot of entertainment. I was not allowed even to turn the radio on, in fear that I might damage it in some way. It’s amazing how destructive a nine-year-old boy’s touch can be. At least, I was led to believe that. I never weighed my hands, but at that time in life they must have weighed at least 300 pounds each. My mother and sisters thought so, anyway.

My father was a very firm man, but he was also very gentle at times. It was during one of these weaker moments that I talked Papa into letting me become the proud owner of one stubborn, mean, contrary billy goat.

Papa laid down the law about my billy goat. The feeding and care of this wonderful animal would have to be my responsibility. I assured Papa that this would be the best kept goat in the world.

Things were wonderful for a while. But “Hercules” began to follow me everywhere I went. From the moment I got up in the morning to the time I went in at night, that billy goat made every step that I did. This was beginning to get on my nerves, but I couldn’t let it be known. I was supposed to be enjoying my goat.

He chewed out his welcome

When I went to visit my friend who lived across the pasture, Hercules went with me. This wasn’t anything to get alarmed about until one day while we were playing, Hercules chewed the seat out of old man Underhill’s winter drawers that were hanging on the clothesline. I never knew why that goat decided to choose the drawers above everything else. I was given notice that I was welcome at the Underhill’s residence, but that darned goat had to stay at home.

I found out that if I would place a plank or long board up against the barn, Hercules would walk up the plank and get on top of the barn. All I had to do was to remove the plank and Hercules wouldn’t dare jump off the high barn. Instead of jumping, he would go to the highest point of the top and stand there and bleat with all his might.

This system worked perfectly until one day Papa came home early and found Hercules standing atop the barn, bleating loudly. Needless to say, the barn-top nursery came to an end very quickly.

One morning while my friend and I, and the goat, were walking in the woods, we found a pint of moonshine whiskey. Someone had hidden the moonshine and forgotten where he had put it. We knew that we faced certain death if we even thought about taking a taste of the foul-smelling stuff. So the next solution was to give the moonshine to Hercules.

A totally drunk goat

I held the goat’s mouth open while my friend poured the moonshine down his throat. It didn’t take long for the whiskey to begin to take effect. After a period of loud burping and sneezing, etc., Hercules was totally drunk.

He would stand with his legs spread widely apart; then he would turn his head as far to the right and then to the left as possible. He would then stagger a few steps and jump straight up. At which time he would bleat loudly, to be followed by a very loud burp. He would then start the process all over again.

After laughing until our stomachs hurt, we left Hercules to himself to get over his drunk. This was our fatal error. The drunken goat staggered across the pasture and up on the front porch of the Underhills’ residence. He walked right through the front screen door. He then jumped right up in the middle of Mrs. Underhill’s nicest feather bed.

By this time, Hercules had begun to foam at the mouth. Anyone not knowing that he had a pint of moonshine whiskey inside him, would have thought the billy goat had gone completely mad.

Anyway, this was the word Papa received. My beloved goat had gone raving mad, and was sure to have rabies.

Papa smelled the truth

We arrived in time to see Papa dragging Hercules out of the house by the horns, and then kicking him soundly off the front porch. The goat got slowly to his feet, jumped straight up and burped loudly.

In all the commotion of dragging Hercules out of the house, Papa smelled the moonshine on the goat’s breath.

The appearance of a long, keen switch and a couple of quick movements that caused the switch to whistle through the air, brought the truth – well, almost the truth – from two small boys.

How were we to know that the crazy goat would drink the moonshine whiskey that had run in a small hole in the ground when we poured it out?

As I stated before, Papa was a firm man, and we didn’t understand him bursting out laughing the next couple of days each time Hercules came staggering drunkenly by.

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from 1964 to 1987. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)