By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026 June 19, 2026
The celebration in Dustbucket Junction had finally ended.
The giant chicken statue stood proudly in the town square.
George Jones was asleep beneath it.
And Chester Finch was preparing to leave.
His moped was loaded.
His saddlebags were packed.
Three containers of emergency breath mints had been secured beneath the seat.
“Well, George,” Chester said, adjusting his hat. “Looks like our work here is done.”
George Jones looked up briefly.
His collar speaker suddenly crackled to life.
“Have you seen my chicken…”
The dog sighed.
The townspeople gathered to wave goodbye.
The mayor presented Chester with a ceremonial key to the city.
It did not fit any known lock.
The schoolchildren sang a song they had written entitled The Ballad of the Chicken Marshal.
The lyrics made very little sense.
Just as Chester placed his foot on the moped kick starter, a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon.
A rider approached at full speed.
The horse looked exhausted.
The rider looked terrified.
The telegram looked expensive.
He skidded to a stop.
“Marshal Finch!” he shouted.
“Another emergency!”
The crowd gasped.
The mayor fainted.
George Jones immediately began barking.
The rider handed over the telegram.
Chester unfolded it.
The message was brief.
URGENT.
TOWN OVERRUN BY ANGRY GOATS.
SEND MOPED MARSHAL IMMEDIATELY.
Chester read it twice.
Then a third time.
He looked toward the horizon.
“Goats?”
The messenger nodded.
“Mean ones.”
“How many?”
“We stopped counting at six hundred.”
The mayor recovered consciousness.
“Six hundred?”
“Last report says they’re organized.”
Chester’s face grew serious.
He reached into his pocket.
A breath mint disappeared.
Then another.
George Jones whined.
“Looks like we’re heading to Gotebo.”
The messenger swallowed hard.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because the goats have already defeated the sheriff.”
The crowd gasped again.
“What happened?”
“They stole his horse.”
At that moment Chester knew ordinary law enforcement was no longer sufficient.
This would require specialists.
The best.
The elite.
The legendary.
The Gotebo Goat Ropers.
Within the hour telegrams were flying across western Oklahoma.
JD received one while repairing a fence.
Dub received one while winning a horseshoe tournament.
Barney was asleep.
Bud was eating pie.
Marvin was doing both.
The message was the same for each man.
REPORT IMMEDIATELY. GOAT EMERGENCY. BRING HORSE. AND ROPE.
Meanwhile, Chester mounted his assigned horse.
A Shetland pony.
The pony stood approximately the same height as George Jones.
The crowd watched silently.
“Marshal,” the mayor said carefully.
“Is that the horse they sent you?”
Chester climbed aboard.
The pony sighed heavily.
“It’ll do.”
The tiny horse carried him forward at a speed slightly faster than walking.
George Jones trotted beside them.
His collar speaker began playing.
“Have you seen my chicken…”
And with that, Dustbucket Junction watched its hero disappear toward another impossible assignment.
Ahead lay angry goats.
Six hundred of them.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, the Gotebo Goat Ropers were saddling up.
The goats had no idea what was coming.
Unfortunately, neither did Chester.
The Leader of The Goats learned that Chester was in enroute and sent him this message…
Unfortunately…there was not an interpreter available to tell Chester what the Goat was saying. We will learn more about in our next episode!
Out in the Oklahoma Hills, where the oak and blackjack trees kiss the playful prairie breeze, and where the black oil rolls and flows while the snow-white cotton grows, Marshal Chester Finch is beginning to suspect that every town in the state has a livestock problem.
First chickens.
Now goats.
As he rides toward Gotebo atop a Shetland pony, Chester can’t help but wonder:
“Is Oklahoma really where I want to be, or am I just too stubborn to leave?”
