Another hazard of our mountainside croquet was the two goats. Mother had acquired them soon after we moved in, and had tied them casually to a post in the backyard. Give them enough rope and they'd clear quite a good piece of property, she figured.It's true that by dint of inexhaustible appetites they eliminated the worst grass clumps, which is more than my brother and I did. On the other hand, none of us children ate the clothesline and three suits of my father's underwear, so this makes us all about even. The goats were named Belle and Beauty, perhaps to delude the neighbors about the way they smelled. They had been given to us, along with a little red goat cart, by a family leaving Franklin who had managed to contain their joy as they bid the goats good riddance.

Theoretically, one of the goats' chief duties, besides mowing the grass, was to pull Bobby, Sally and me, one at a time, in the goat cart. However, for some curious reason, Belle and Beauty were always confused and thought it was we children who were supposed to pull them. After we'd ridden a few hundred feet, both goats would sit down and wait to be hauled home. It was an awful unsatisfactory arrangement, and nobody cried when Belle and Beauty were given to a farmer who came to sell us eggs each week and admired the red goat cart. After he'd had the goats a week, he stopped bringing us eggs, probably to get even.

--from We Shook the Family Tree (1941)