The Z Report

Well as you know this is a Z Year. Not for us Nigerians, we do not go in for that type of nonsense. But the LaMancha babies all have to have Z names and there seemed for a long time to be very slim pickings, with a lot of waffling and do-overs, even more than usual.

The final results are in, and the names are going to the registry.

Zinnia's name is not going to be Zinnia. There are way too many zinnias in a z year. Her name is going to be Zenyatta, even though she is not 17+ hands tall and isn't a very fast runner. It is just a good name for her, and she does have a white blaze on her forehead. GO ZENYATTA!!!

Pinky's name is not going to be Pinky. It is going to be Zedoary. This is a kind of ginger, and we could call her Dory if we wanted, but honestly we will probably just call her Pinky. Even though her name is now Zedoary. It doesn't really matter, because she will never know what her name is.

Pinky, Jr. is going to be called Zapricot because she bites.

Pinky, Jr's sister is going to be Zamora, which is a city in Spain that is famous for its cheeses.

Ziggy is going to be called Ziggy. She won't stand for any other name.

Jimmy (Joemma Beach) is just going to be Jimmy, she is exempt from the Z rule. And plus she is already confused about a lot of things, so why make matters worse.

Please start thinking of A names now, it took eleven months to do Z.

Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?

I have not been here that long but nonetheless I have noticed certain things. One thing I have noticed is that nothing ever stays the way it is.

Things go along and everything is fine. Everyone acts normal. The food comes fairly promptly. Nobody berries in the water bucket. The screaming is kept to a polite minimum, mostly from Walker the Talker, the world's handsomest minimancha wether, who always seems to be yelling, "I may be the world's handsomest minimancha wether, but I am PART NUBIAN!"

Anyway that is to be expected and nobody notices it any more, it is like living near an airport, after a while you can sleep through a Dreamliner taking off in your living room.

So for the last couple of weeks we have just been having normal days. Then all of a sudden all hell breaks loose and the bats shoot out of the belfry.

Today it started with Aunt Hannah Belle going into heat, finally, and performing several eye-popping maneuvers which will be documented on the Flip video camera in 18 days when she does them again as she surely will. Anyway, as fat as she is she pushed her rubber bones through the pipe gate, under the railroad tie, through the back pasture fence and back up the other side so that she could stand outside the buck pen with her fanny wiggling in a most unseemly manner.

Since Aunt Hannah Belle was in heat, Jammies went into heat too and started bawling like a calf up in the milker pasture. Even though she could fit in Aunt Hannah Belle's back pocket she couldn't even get through one gate. So she just bawled.

"I am OVER HERE!" she was bawling to the bucks.

Since the other two were in heat my own mother Belle Pepper went into heat which was very embarrassing. I followed her when she tried to run down to the buck pasture but the farmer caught us both and we got detoured into the old buck pen.

The bucks were all blubbering and running in circles.

"Can someone help me?" my mother was yelling. "Could one of you gentlemen possibly help me?"

"This is ridiculous," said the farmer. "Can you all please be quiet?"

" I can't help you, " screamed Walker the Talker, "but I am PART NUBIAN!!!"

Pinky's Lament

Just when the milkless boys had almost reached the bottom of their ocean of tears, everybody here is getting a headache because Pinky has been wailing all day long. That's because of Gracie and Joyjoy. Gracie and Joyjoy, Bertie's twins, were very lucky and got picked to go to a nice new home. That's fine except nobody read Pinky the memo.

The farmer thought maybe Gracie and Joyjoy could be snuck out while Pinky and the other LaMancha doelings - aka "the piranhas" - were distracted with hay and grape leaves. That seemed to work. Then this morning Pinky's brain caught up with reality and she started in hollering.

"Wait a minute, where is Gracie?' she has been bawling all day long. "Wasn't she just here? Gracie? Gracie? Are you behind me? Gracie?"

She wasn't that attached to Joyjoy. Or maybe she thought Gracie and Joyjoy were the same goat. Who knows.

The good news is it has been established through sophisticated experimental procedures that Pinky cannot remember anything for more than eight hours. So by dinnertime she should have forgotten about Gracie.

We are counting the hours.

One Day a Year

Fabulous Last Place Wronny is one of the farmer's pets because she never causes trouble and is absolutely silent. Even when Wronny is having her kids she hardly ever makes any noise. Once or twice if it is a gigantic buck kid with a head like a beach ball, a muted peep of dismay might tumble out. Like if you stubbed your toe at a fancy cocktail party. More likely though she would just raise one of her eyebrows, indicating extreme agitation.

This is as opposed to, say, Tangy, who would start screaming if a raindrop touched her.

To give an example of the extent of Wronny's stoicism, the farmer has been asking the grief-stricken milkless boys on weaning, "why can't you be quiet like Wronny?"

Anyway today is Wronny's one-day-a-year.

She is standing at the fenceline, in the steady rain, bellowing across the pasture like a foghorn. If this sound were recorded on CD it would outsell all the whale song tapes. It is long and mournful and endless, having been bottled up for 364 days.

"I WANT TO SEE MY BOYFRIEND!" it says.

"AS SOON AS POSSIBLE PLEASE!"

"RIGHT AWAY IF IT CAN BE ARRANGED!"

News, Old and New

Some people came last weekend to take a cheese class. It was very boring, they did not bring any treats for me.

Zane Grey and Mr. Jimmy and Franco are on 'weaning.' This is where you do not get any milk. Their sorrow is very sad. Their cries fill the air. I am thinking of writing a poem about it.

I am not on weaning because I am Baby Belle, Jr. I signalled to the farmer that I did not care to join the weaning club. Maybe next year.

Aunt Blue went on the milkstand today for the first time. Except for coming in the milk parlor through the back door, which is normally not allowed, she was a complete professional. The farmer is going to start sending the milk to the test lab again.

I am sure some of the LaManchas will get a lecture when the results come back, because Aunt Blue will have the highest butterfat as usual unless Jammies the sad-eyed minimancha is able to beat her. I am rooting for Blue because she is my aunt, although Jammies is my cousin so I may switch and root for her if she wins.

The farm store is supposed to open soon selling cheese and eggs and a few other things. But we will see if that happens, things don't always happen on schedule around here.

Why?

Why is there no justice? Why is the world filled with grief and heartache? Why must bad things happen to good goats? Why did I get banned from the grain bin?

"Because you are getting too fat, Millie," said the farmer.

Boxcar Betty Goes Bad

Boxcar Betty, my cousin, used to be sweet and adorable like me.

She followed the straight and narrow path of the Captain January side of the family tree, instead of the Hannah Belle Lecter side of the tree.

If the farmer would say, "Betty! Betty, come here!" Betty would come.

When the yearlings and fat girls went down below, Betty went with them. Then Hannah Belle got sent down there. Aunt Hannah Belle stayed there for maybe fifteen seconds and then left, because the food up at the big barn by the milker pasture is much better.

Betty watched with dismay but did not attempt to escape.

Then Hannah Belle came back because the fat girls were going out in the big meadow where there is free meadow grass and brush. Betty started hanging around with Hannah Belle, who is her mother after all.

Or should I say loitering. Betty started loitering around with Hannah Belle.

Hannah Belle went back to the big barn when the meadow was closed for the summer.

Betty watched with dismay. Then attempted to escape. Unfortunately for her she did not have her mother's cat burglar skills.

Aunt Hannah Belle looked on idly, chewing her cud like a baseball pitcher watching for a sign from the catcher, as Betty scrambled and pawed in an attempt to duck under the fat girl fence at the blackberry hole. No luck. Hannah Belle looked on with cool detachment as Betty attempted to head butt the gate open. Sad, said Hannah Belle's expression. A sad effort.

Hannah Belle dozed serenely as Betty made a sorry little jump at the field fencing. It was almost embarrassing. Like something you would see from the Breezy family.

Betty began twittering to Hannah Belle, little birdcalls of affrontery and indignation. Hannah Belle stood up and yawned and went and stole some alfalfa from the LaMancha kids. Then Betty began running the fenceline and yelling.

Hannah Belle finally got up and sauntered off toward the fat girl pasture.

I did not see what happened next, because it was time for me to go to the grain bin.

When I came back, Betty and Hannah Belle were up in the milkers' pasture, sunning themselves on top of the tank cover.

"Betty!" called the farmer. "Betty, come here!"

Betty turned her head, like a femme fatale in a movie, and looked at the farmer, and blinked a couple of times. And then looked away, down at the meadow that was closed until spring. Where Hannah Belle was looking, watching all the canary grass grow.

Quid Pro Quo

It is getting late in the season and because of that and for other reasons the milk production has been dropping off. I do not like to name names but Wronny, Winnie, Winnie, Jr., Xie Xie (of course), Lucy, Jessie, Tangy, Maddie, and Betsy have all been milking a lot less. Peaches stopped completely and has been excused from the milk parlor. Only Big Orange has been keeping up production, no one knows why. Jammies of course always milks the same amount because it is her policy.

Anyway there was a staff meeting involving the farmer showing the milkers some charts and spreadsheets and explaining about revenue projections and late lactation milk and our goals for the fourth quarter. Several of the milkers fell asleep. Not Jammies, of course.

"The bad news," said the farmer. "is that everyone needs to work a lot harder. Not Jammies, obviously."

"The good news is because we are out of pea hay we will be getting alfalfa."

This waked a few of them up. Jammies gave the farmer a polite but skeptical look which seemed to inquire whether it would be nice alfalfa or that awful stemmy alfalfa from the place in Port Orchard.

The farmer explained that it would be beautiful leafy 4th cutting alfalfa from Moses Lake in the Columbia Basin, the kind that has just a sprinkle of orchard grass in it for added flavor. It would be only for the milkers.

"And Millie, of course."

The milkers consulted and agreed that they would milk more, effective as soon as the 4th cutting was served for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Not Jammies, of course; she was already doing her best.

And they did.

Let's Talk About Me

A lot has been written about the infirm (Xie Xie), the elderly (Spenny), the unproductive (most of the milkers), the conceited (Cora Belle), the overweight (Tangy), the ill-behaved (Tangy again), and the extremely annoying (Wendell). But hardly anything has been written about me.

So here are a few facts about me.

1. I like to be carried around. It saves energy and the view is better.

2. I like food and food-related items.

3. I like milk. Milk is delicious, it tastes like candy. While milk is a food-related item, it is also milk, so I include it in a category by itself.

4. I do not care for water or rain except if it is in a bucket.

5. I like to do everything by the schedule. For example, we are supposed to come in from the pasture and eat dinner by 5:30. I start crying at 5:31, because why wait?

6. I am getting prettier every day, which is kind of unbelievable, because I was already so pretty when I was born. I am also adorable.

But that's enough about me, because I am also extremely modest and humble. Thank you.

Take Me To The World

Today we went in the big meadow again. It was a beautiful Indian Summer day. Then I enjoyed a few minutes in the grain bin.

"That's enough, Millie," the farmer said, although it really wasn't. Then carried me out to sit on the porch in the sun.

Zane Gray wanted to go in the grain bin but he wasn't allowed because grain isn't good for wethers. How sad.

The horseshoer came last Friday. The kindly one who loves dogs, not the gloomy adorable one with the gloomy sayings. The gloomy one does not shoe mules, because he says "a mule will work for a man for ten years for one chance to kick him."

The gloomy one is not that crazy about dogs either, because he used to raise sheep. Dogs are the bane of sheep. Neighborhood dogs, anyway; they are always after the sheep.

The gloomy horseshoer has a saying about that, too, about what to do if a pesky neighbor dog is bothering your sheep. "Shoot him, bury him, and help the neighbor look for him."

The kindly horseshoer would never shoot a dog, even though he raises sheep. He got the sheep so his border collies could learn to herd them. And they did.

Times have been hard, everyone knows that, but the horseshoer has a spring in his step because he got a new dog, a "grand dog." He thinks maybe the new dog is going to be the best dog he ever had, a dog with heart and soul and relentless drive. And biddable but not too soft.

He wouldn't say that if he didn't mean it.

The new dog brings tears to his eyes, just talking about him. "You know," says the horseshoer, who has had dogs forever, "You might get one dog like that in your life."

"A dog who can take you to the world."

Everyone was feeling misty-eyed that day, I guess, because after the horseshoer left the farmer made our border collie, Spenny, sit with us on the porch for a long time, even though Spenny doesn't really like just sitting.

We looked out at the goats in the meadow, just like we did today. It was a beautiful day.

Ok

Xie Xie was in a stupor for four days, not really eating anything and with a blank look on her face. She walked around in slow motion.

Yesterday she looked at the farmer in surprise. Her expression said, where have you been? Did you get a new hat?

The farmer gave Xie Xie some alfalfa. Xie Xie started eating it. Then she stopped and looked at the farmer. Ok, her expression said. Let's go on.

Ok.

Herron Hill's Weeping Camel

On Wednesday several of the milkers got very sick from eating some bad grain. Jessie and Wronny are fine now. Winnie, Jr. is doing pretty well. Peaches was in terrible shape but she has perked up. The farmer is going to let her dry off. Xie Xie is still a little glassy-eyed and looks like she lost about fifteen pounds in three days. We will have to see if she can keep milking.

We lost Cammy.

Yesterday

Yesterday was a very sad and happy day at the farm. Since it is so gray out already I am going to tell the happy part. My cousin Cora Belle won Grand Champion at the State Fair in Puyallup.

From what I have heard there were a lot of beautiful doelings there, so Cora Belle started acting conceited before she even got out of the ring. By the time she got back to her pen, she had stopped taking personal calls and hired Tangy as her assistant. I think that is a mistake because in my opinion Tangy is not that much help. But who am I to tell the state champion how to conduct her affairs.

For the rest of the day Cora Belle would immediately strike a pose whenever she saw someone with a cellphone camera.

Tangy also won a blue ribbon but that was because she was the only one in her class. The judge kindly remarked that she was a perfectly presentable goat or something to that effect, and Tangy was delighted to go back to her pen without even performing any of her patented "swordfish" airs above ground. As soon as she left the ring an army of beautiful giant Saanens with ten gallon udders came supergliding in, making Tangy look like an apricot-colored miniature poodle.

You Can Do It At a Gallop

This morning there was a strange honking noise and we all looked up to see a flock of little pink pigs flying over the barn.

"Ok then," said the farmer. "Tangy is going to the Fair."

Goat Tears

I was in the house watching tv with the farmer and we saw the saddest commercial.

Wendell Has His Day

You know what they say, every dog has his day. And it is true. Even Wendell.

There has been a big bold coyote coming around and he is called B.D. for his habit of sauntering insolently into the goat pasture in broad daylight. Every time he comes, he comes a little closer.

The farmer runs at him and throws rocks and shoots at him with the pellet gun and he just doesn't care. He is an excellent judge of speed, which let's face it the farmer lacks, and he stands his ground until the last minute and then bounds away as if he was just leaving anyway and it is a coincidence that the farmer is running pell mell toward him hollering and throwing rocks.

The farmer always calls for Atty but usually Atty sleeps during the day and it takes a while to wake him up and let's face it once he is woken up it is pretty much a tie between him and the farmer as to who is the slowest. But Atty definitely puts on quite a display of woofing, I feel like clapping every time I hear it, it is very authentic.

The other day B.D. came right up to the fat lady pasture, leaving only the fence between them, and he looked the fat girls up and down as if he were peering into the lobster tank at a seafood restaurant. He comes around so often that the big ones - Bertie is a good example - don't even have sense to know they should stay far away from him. Bertie and Binky, in fact, were crowding up to the fence line to see if he maybe had some pockets with vanilla wafers in them.

Anyway the farmer caught sight of him and hove into view hollering and hucking rocks and calling for Atty. The farmer came on down the hill like a battleship being tugged out to sea, stopping now and then to pick up rocks, and yelling for Lori - "get the gun!" - and Atty - "ATTICUS!"

The farmer opened up the gate, thinking Atty was on his way, and grabbed some more rocks. But it wasn't Atty coming. It was Wendell flying like a little black bat out of hell and he shot past the farmer as soon as the gate opened and went straight for the coyote. The farmer was terribly alarmed since Wendell was maybe - maybe - half the size of B.D. But Wendell apparently didn't know it, he just went on like a dervish and scared the coyote so badly that it turned around and ran right into the fence where it caught for one scary moment with Wendell jumping at its throat like a good bulldog will do and then it sprang free and shot out through the hole in the fence where Melly goes out to eat hardhack in the meadow. Wendell was hot on his heels and acting like a true berserk.

Wendell and the coyote ran about a hundred feet along the fenceline and then both of them disappeared into the high grass, with the farmer lumbering along helplessly behind, yelling for Wendell to leave the coyote and come back.

Atty finally appeared, huffing and puffing, and ran along the fenceline in the wrong direction. "This way, Atty," the farmer yelled, pointing toward the canary grass into which Wendell and B.D. had vanished. But Atty flopped down next to the gate, spreading his paws out like a lion. He had used up his quota of running energy for the day.

"Wendell!" hollered the farmer, over and over, and in between yells it was all deathly quiet for several long minutes until you might almost start to wonder whether the coyote hadn't lured Wendell into a trap, but then we heard the wet snuffling of an overexerted boston terrier and a couple of seconds later Wendell's head bobbed up out of the grass, wearing a big delighted grin. I never saw a dog look more pleased.

And B.D. hasn't come back since then.

A Tale of Two Goats

My cousin Cora Belle came over yesterday for more fair walking practice for the goat show. It is incredibly dull and boring. The goat and the person walk around in a circle and that's it. That's the whole show. No popcorn or anything.

Just a goat and its person walking around in a circle joined by a few other goats and their people walking in a circle. Once in a while they stop and the person pokes the goat around a little bit, "setting it up" and making it look good. It's completely ridiculous.

I am very glad it has been decided I am not going to the fair. Anyway the whole thing was rather odd because Cora Belle seemed to enjoy it and she would let any person walk around with her, even a three year old, and would allow herself to be posed like a Gumby. I find it very strange that she is Hannah Belle's daughter; Hannah Belle will not obey anyone, not even the farmer.

But Cora Belle paraded around extensively and it was very dull until she was joined by Tangy.

Tangy used to be known as "the swordfish" for her style of walking, which is to throw herself up into the air and flap around like a marlin on a sportfishing show. We were all very impressed by it. But she has even outdone herself now.

Yesterday she was doing fair walking practice and she had a full-blown tantrum and threw herself up into the air and then flat on the ground. The farmer's friend who is a very very good showman did not let go of the collar as Tangy expected, just held on patiently with Tangy flopped completely on the ground.

Tangy refused to get up, turning her body into a boat anchor, which wasn't hard since she is the fattest yearling here. After a few minutes an ordinary goat would have gotten up, but not Tangy; instead, since she was already lying down, she took a short nap.

The farmer says she isn't going anywhere much less the state fair but I hope they do take her to the show because it was a lot more interesting than Cora Belle's style of white glove perfection. Cora Belle must get that from the Shirley Temple side of her family.



PS I forgot to mention all photos were taken by PETA representative Wendy Webster. No animals were injured but the farmer's elbow was slightly wrenched, not that anyone cares. In future we will try to get an observer from the Human Fund to insure that human injuries are kept to a minimum although there is no guarantee they can be avoided entirely since Tangy is part Nubian. Thanks.

Marty

The farmer unexpectedly found an old picture of Marty, the kindest Nubian who ever lived. But you can probably tell that just from looking, even though she is asleep in the picture. She loved to sleep with her head on her little daughter Marigold.

Cash For Clunkers

Hybrid vehicle. Runs on peanuts and grass. My cousin Filbert.

Pipe Gate Massage

Sometimes you can come within an inch of your life and not even know it.

And that is what happened yesterday.

Not to me, but to my Aunt Hannah Belle.

It was a red letter day. The farm had been rendered spotless. This was because the dairy inspector was coming for a visit. He came right on time and inspected all around the barn.

Even Walker the Talker, the little minimancha buckling who has something to say about everything, had been instructed to keep quiet.

The dairy inspector nodded at everyone in the barn. We nodded back, pretending to admire him. Then he put on a hairnet, which meant he was going into the dairy. The farmer went with him, and they were gone for about five minutes.

While they were gone Aunt Hannah Belle mysteriously appeared. She had been 100% banned from the barn during the inspector's visit, owing to her incorrigible behavior. In fact the farmer had put her down below with the fat girls and mended the little hole in the fence that Melly had made.

"That ought to hold you," the farmer muttered with satisfaction, having woven the field fence back together with an attractively rustic snaggle of baling twine.

Maybe the farmer shouldn't have said that.

We watched in shock and awe as she sashayed down the aisle toward the grain cans. She hannahbelled all three of them in rapid succession, spilling 150 pounds of dry cob and 14% dairy ration onto the barn floor in a seven foot swath.

She ate with lightning speed, like one of those people turned loose in a grocery store for ten minutes. Even Betsy was impressed.

Then for a change of pace she jumped onto my mountain of pea hay, knocking a few bales out of the stack while she searched for hay with the peas still on it. Even Winnie was shaken by her audacity.

A gasp went up as everyone heard the door of the dairy open. Aunt Hannah Belle scuttled away, moving like a worried crab with her feet seeming to rotate underneath her. She ran around the corner toward the pipe gate into the front pasture, and it seemed she had time to make a clean getaway, but then there came a familiar grunting noise.

She was stuck in the gate, too fat to squirt through from the angle she had chosen. Stone cold busted. The dairy inspector, three feet away, popped his eyes in surprise to see a fat little goat teetering between the pipes of the gate.

"What is that?" he said.

"Oh she gets stuck in the fence sometimes," we heard the farmer say nonchalantly. "She is a little bit fat."

"Isn't that cute?' said the dairy inspector.

"Yes," agreed the farmer grimly, looking daggers at Aunt Hannah Belle, who had shrewdly adopted the attitude of someone enjoying a nice relaxing pipe gate massage.

"Well, I better get going," said the dairy inspector. And he turned around and walked in the opposite direction. The farmer took a step into the barn, saw for the first time the hannahbelled cans and the wanton destruction of the one-goat buffet, and smoothly pirouetted back out.

"I'll walk you to your car."