Without a doubt, one of the strangest constellations in the Butler winter heavens is Auriga, the charioteer without a chariot, schlepping a mama goat on his shoulder and her kids in the crook of his elbow.

Auriga is part of my favorite group of constellations — which I call “Orion and his gang” — that dominates the winter heavens, and, this year, the very bright planet Jupiter is part of the gang.

Auriga resembles a giant lopsided pentagon, with the bright star Capella at one of its corners. In early February, Auriga is perched very high — nearly overhead — in the early-evening southern sky.

The best way to locate it is to find Capella and trace out the rest of the pentagon from there. Capella is positioned on the upper right corner of the pentagon, which appears to be pointing down at the legendary constellation Orion the Hunter.

So how do you make this lopsided pentagon of stars into a goat-hauling chariot driver without a chariot? A mega imagination! I can’t help but think libations may also have been involved.

Seriously, most constellations don’t really look like what they are supposed to be, because they’re more or less celestial props or visual tools to pass on stories and legends from generation to generation. The stories and constellations can vary widely, from culture to culture.

My favorite tales — and the ones I’m honestly most familiar with — come from Greek and Roman mythology, but even those stories can vary greatly. It’s no surprise, since they’ve been passed down mostly by word-of-mouth through countless generations.

Here’s my favorite Greek saga about Auriga. There was once a mighty king named Oenomaus, who ruled a powerful kingdom. He had a beautiful daughter, Hippodamia, who attracted many suitors. King Oenomaus didn’t wish for his daughter to be married, because a local oracle warned him that if she got married, he would die. You’ll discover that the oracle knew what he was talking about.

So, Oenomaus tried to make it impossible. He decreed that the only way he would approve of a marriage was that the young man would have to beat him in a chariot race. If he failed, not only would he not be allowed to marry Hippodamia, but he would also be executed. Nice guy!

King Oenomaus had all the cards though. His father was Aries, the god of war and a master charioteer. Because of his great wealth, he had the best chariot imaginable and the fastest horses money could buy. He also had Myrtilus, a champion chariot driver.

A few brave souls challenged the king but failed greatly, and they violently met their fate.

That all changed when Pelops showed up. Like Oenomaus, Pelops was a half-god, son of Hermes, the speedy messenger of the gods. Hermes provided a magical chariot that would sprout golden wings to ensure victory.

That alone would have leveled the playing field, but that wasn’t good enough for Pelops. He wanted Hippodamia’s hand so badly that he was willing to cheat — big time. He bribed Oenomaus’s chariot driver, Myrtilus, to betray the king and sabotage the king’s chariot. He did so by replacing the linchpins that held on the wheels of Oenomaus’ chariot with ones made of wax.

Not only would the king lose the race, but he would also be thrown off and killed. In return for his betrayal, Pelops promised half the kingdom to Myrtilus after Oenomaus perished.

When the race began, Oenomaus was able to keep up with Pelops, but right on schedule, the golden wings popped out of the crooked suitor’s chariot. The king was left in a cloud of dust.

Oenomaus ordered Myrtilus to force the horses to go faster, but Myrtilus had other plans. He bailed out of the chariot just before it violently fell apart. Oenomaus was then dragged to his death by his horses, cursing Myrtilus all the way.

Pelops could now marry Hippodamia and live happily ever after with the Queen of the kingdom. Myrtilus was happy for the new couple, but he still wanted half of his kingdom. A deal was a deal!

He confronted Pelops, demanding his share, but as crooked as ever, Pelops stalled him, claiming that his lawyers were drawing up all the necessary papers which would be ready in a few days. Myrtilus was satisfied with this explanation and went walking off. Just as he did, Pelops, with his inherited godly powers, kicked Myrtilus so hard in the rear that he went flying into the heavens and magically became the constellation we know today as Auriga.

No one knows exactly how the betraying chariot driver got the mama goat and baby goats on his shoulder, but the leading theory is that they were added on by shepherds as they watched their flocks by night.

Auriga’s brightest star, Capella, marks the spot of the mama goat. Capella is a Latin name that roughly translates to “she-goat.”

Again, look for Auriga, the charioteer turned goat farmer, flying without a chariot, very high in the evening southern sky. See if you can spot the dim triangle of stars that make the baby goats just below Capella.

Mike Lynch is an amateur astronomer and professional broadcast meteorologist for WCCO Radio in Minneapolis/St. Paul. He is also the author of “Stars: a Month by Month Tour of the Constellations,” published by Adventure Publications and available at bookstores and at adventurepublications.net. Contact him at mikewlynch@comcast.net.