Family of One Has a Conversation with Mother

Mother called recently and there was an unusual lilt in her voice.

“There was a goat at the beauty shop,” she said.

I thought that I had misunderstood.

“Yes, Miss Astorbilt (as she refers to me), there was a goat. The people who own the building also have a big farm outside Thomasville. This little goat is black instead of white like his mother and brothers, so they don’t want anything to do with him. He also has a very bad underbite. So, the people are bottle feeding him and are keeping him in the fenced yard behind the beauty shop until he grows up a bit”.

So, I queried, she saw the goat in the yard behind the beauty shop?

“If it is any of your business,” she riposted, “they brought the goat into the beauty shop so that we could see him. He was running and skipping and running and skipping all around. He tried to eat my shoe and he also ate a plant”.

She was wistful for a moment.

“He has the softest fur”.

I had not heard her this excited since she shook Vincent Price’s hand at the Sedgefield Country Club.

I immediately texted my partner in absurdity, Jason, who had a series of questions including were there not any cosmetology laws in High Point preventing goats from entering beauty shops. He also named the goat “McCullers” after Carson McCullers, a nod to both his Southern roots and my father, Carson Southern.

When I spoke to Mother the next day, she immediately began talking about the goat. I told her that Jason had some questions about the goat.

“I do not care for the tone in Jason’s questions,” she offered. “I do not think he has the goat’s best interest at heart”.

I told her we had named the goat “McCullers”.

“It is none of Jason’s business what the goat is named. Besides, the former mayor of High Point is named Roy Culler and that could be very confusing to the goat. And, he already has a name. His name is Valentino”.

I made the point that she should have told me the goat’s name before Jason so kindly thought of a name.

“I do not like your attitude or Jason’s attitude”.

In response to concern about the cosmetology laws, Mother was succinct.


“Why don’t Jason and you worry about those books you are supposed to be making?”

Discussion about McCullers dominated much of our conversations for the next week. She could hardly wait to see “McCuster”, as she begrudgingly called him, again.

After her visit to the beauty shop, she called me, completely crestfallen.

“They took the goat back to live with his family. He found a hole in the fence behind the beauty shop and they found him wandering in the parking lot.”

Her voice brightened for a moment.

“I told them that he needed some vegetables and was walking to Food Town”.

There was a long silence.

“I loved that little fellow”.

Several weeks later, a letter arrived from High Point. On lovely stationery engraved Mary Southern, there was a scrawled note from Valentino asking if he could meet me one day and sending me $43.00. There was also a murky photograph of the goat (taken down from her beautician’s mirror where it had a place of honor).

Mother has assured me that when I come to High Point, the owners have consented to bring the goat for a visit so that I can meet him.

I hope he will answer to McCullers. But, of course, it is none of my business.