Thursday, June 29, 2017

The Three Little Things

The three little barbarians lived in a stall with Wembley at night. There was something about them that made Moony keep asking: what are they?

Moony exists in a state of eternal surprise and she would see them and marvel: what are they?

"They are just from Oregon is all," I tried to explain but talk about deaf ears. Ok during the day they learned immediately about hole-seeking and they would be put out with the elderly and the infirm and they would eat blackberry leaves for a few minutes and then they would find a hole or a gap in the fence and they would skedaddle back to the barn like true believers where they would inspect for hay and grain in an extremely professional fashion.

Binky thought they were very annoying and tried to t-bone them but they are small creatures with large brains whereas Binky is the reverse and the results were far from satisfactory from the Binky side of things. All in all they were born skedaddlers and Belle Starr began giving them inquisitive looks.

"Wait a minute," she would say, looking especially at the little white one.

"What are they?" Moony would ask again, as if it were a new question.

After a few weeks the three barbarians were introduced to the concept of weaning and their shrieks filled the air. We did not need a translator to know that they were calling the Milk Police and protesting that there is no such thing as weaning in Oregon.

One of them, the little white one with the pretty face, pulled a commando raid on Wembley and got a few ounces of milk before Wembley could gallop away.

"Wait a minute," mused Belle Starr.

"Those three little things," asked Moony. "What are they?"

Sunday, June 18, 2017

screamspringen

Well the farmer called a staff meeting and everyone clumped together.

I don't remember the exact words of the speech but it was something to this effect: "Now there is some new doelings here and they are going to come out in the herd soon and I want everyone to know that these are ivy league goats and they come from a high-class background where everything is nice and not just a bunch of ramshackle sheds and they are used to a civilized atmosphere and I am just warning everyone here that if there is any type of..."

I missed the next part because Moony t-boned me just for standing in a shadow she liked because she is so fat she gets overheated at the first hint of sunshine so she has certain shadows she likes to stand in because she thinks some shadows are better than others and provide a more cooling atmosphere for the overconditioned which is how they say it when goats get too fat.

Okay then there was another chunk that I remember: "...exactly what I am talking about and there will be SERIOUS repercussions if one of these doelings..."

Then another gap where June Bug started screaming because she was stuck in the feeder which was just specially repaired to keep her out of it so now when she goes in it she gets stuck briefly for a moment before popping through and that is when she gives the scream, which is a real Jurassic Park type scream. I think when she lets the scream out it reduces her lung size so she can pop through but anyway it is an interesting phenomenon. Probably in the Amish country they have a name for it, screamspringen or something.

"And so this will be your only warning."

And that was the end of the speech. The three doelings came bounding out, just like they were on their way to a birthday party with free ice cream and cake.

"What?" puzzled Moony. "Is there going to be a meeting or not?"

Then, as she was able to focus her beady eyes: "who are those three?"


Friday, June 02, 2017

New in Town

The farmer went on a road trip in the little red truck and and when the farmer came back there were three Nigerian doelings in the back of the truck.

"Probably someone put them in there at a rest stop," Clover surmised. Clover has been to the state fair so she is an expert on most things.

One was mostly black, one was mostly white, and one was black and white. The black one was screaming in a hoarse voice which seemed to indicate she had been screaming for a fairly long time. She did not betray any plans to stop screaming.

"Good lungs," Pebbles noted admiringly. Pebbles is our top screamer. When she had Ellie she screamed for twelve hours starting from before she was even in labor. Pebbles style of screaming is a "Godzilla-is-coming!" style of yell-screaming whereas this doeling had an edgier higher-pitched tone. More operatic.

Incomprehensible though. No one could understand what she was screaming. Eo gave a dark look. "Uh oh," she muttered.

"What about that white one?" mused Betty. It looked kind of familiar. You couldn't put your finger on it, but there was something about it that rang a bell.

They stayed in the barn in a stall for three days. On the fourth day Wembley was put in with them. Wembley is not a jumper but she jumped out. So they went back to staying in their stall alone. On the fifth day the farmer took them out in the front pasture with the elderly and the infirm. By this time the black one had given up round-the-clock screaming for intermittent screaming. They did not understand about grass or blackberries, but they saw Pinky eating them and learned how to do that. They did not understand about tree stumps but they soon learned to jump on them.

Winnie kindly explained to them how an electric fence works but they would not take her word for it or probably they did not understand what she was saying. They wanted firsthand confirmation which they got. Okay after the shrieks everything seemed ok and they were at the point where you might almost say "what could go wrong?"

Just then the little black one probably emboldened by the stump hopping took a running jump and a flying leap right into the horse water tank. For once when some screaming might have come in handy she said nothing but "glub" as she swam around very ineptly in the tank. Fortunately (I guess) the farmer was standing right there and fished her out dripping wet and set her back on dry land.

Eo witnessed all this shaking her head and finally said. "There is only one place where goats like to swim and scream incomprehensibly."

The suspense was killing us and finally Moony asked "where?"

Where else.

 "Oregon."


Friday, May 19, 2017

Posse of One

~~~....cont.~~~

A silence like goatberries in the water bucket fell.

Or should it be: a silence fell like goatberries in the water bucket?

Anyway, a silence fell. Like goatberries in the water bucket.

Finally Crumpet spoke. "Trumpet," she mused. "I see."

"It's brassy," explained Belle Starr.

"I see," said Crumpet, squinting her eyes like a conqueror: "Trumpet."

"Would this mean that Crayola would have to change her name to Trayola?" Dill Pickle inquired. Crayola is Crumpet's mild-mannered quadruplet sister.

"And it's also victorious-sounding," Belle Starr elaborated.

"Trumpet," repeated Crumpet, thoughtfully.

"What if someone's name was Curd?" Moony asked. "What then?"

"Why is Moony still here?" asked the little gray one. "she is not in our posse."

Just then Crumpet's mother Abby strolled over suspiciously.

"What is going on here?" she asked.

"Crumpet is changing her name to Trumpet," said Moony.

"But people will just call her Trumpy Dumps," added the little gray one. "she will be a heroic figure. A heroic embattled figure. Someone will probably make a big statue of her riding a horse and put it in a square somewhere."

"No, that is not going to happen, " said Abby, definitively. "That will not be allowed. None of it." And then she walked away. Just like that. QED.

Another silence fell. Like goatberries in the water bucket.

Then Crumpet yelled, "this posse is cancelled! This posse is now a posse of one!"

And she flounced away. Fuming. Because some people always ruin everything.




Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Crumpet 2.0

Crumpet, aka Crumpy Dumps, was getting sick and tired of sitting in the second fiddle section. She had gone to the trouble of growing to an almost-normal height while remaining supremely adorable and she just wasn't getting the right amount of attention or anything close to it. She thought things might improve if she changed her name. You know, a rebranding.

Crumpet 2.0, only it wouldn't be Crumpet it would be something more victorious-and-important-sounding. Crumpet was a little too cute, especially for TMFGITW. She needed a nom de plume.

She also needed a plume, she used to have one but it seems like Moony might have eaten it. What is the point of having a nom de plume if you don't have a plume.

"What is a plume?" asked Moony.

"Be quiet," Eo explained.

Crumpet had developed a ragamuffin posse of outcasts which included Dinky and Blue from the Betweenlands, Belle Starr, that little gray one, Sasquatch the Bold, June Bug part of the time when she wasn't busy thieving and skedaddling, and Dill Pickle. They surged around together like a rogue Girl Scout troop, sneaking food from the unsuspecting, t-boning babies, performing complicated commando raids requiring split-second timing.

"Is there another kind of timing?" asked Moony.

"Zip it up," snapped Eo.

Crumpet discussed with the posse the need for a new name, something powerful and triumphant -- something brassy. But easy to remember.

"If you change your name how will people know who you are?" wondered Moony.

Eo walked away. She couldn't take any more.

"By looking at me," said Crumpet.

Belle Starr had an idea for a name. It was perfect, like all her ideas. A name that was victorious-and-important-sounding. And also brassy, very brassy. But easy to remember, and really not much different from Crumpet.

"How about Trumpet?"

---to be cont. ---





Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Running Up That Hill

Sometimes there isn’t really anything you can say. Tommy was 32. 

For some reason the farmer told everybody that he was 31.

“How old is he now?” people would ask.

And the farmer would say, "he's 31."

Who are those people anyway, they don't know Tommy. What business is it of theirs how old he is. They don't know how he went up that hill that time. That hill that was way too steep to go up, and he went right up it plunging and springing and snorting and farting and at the top the farmer couldn't stop laughing because it just wasn't safe to do something like that, that was not sensible. But so much fun.

That time he pulled the Volkswagen out of the snow. What about that? Those people don't know anything about that. All those times the little children would climb up on him, and he would turn around and look at the farmer, asking do I have to do this? And the farmer would nod yes and off he would go, not exactly good-natured about it, but completely safe and trustworthy. And then afterwards he would be so pleased. That's right, he - Tommy, the one and only - had been chosen to give the little children a ride. Not Willen. Not Laddy. Because he had become, over the years, completely trustworthy. The farmer could count on one hand the people in the world known for a fact to be as trustworthy as Tommy.

Something was very wrong with him and it was the lovely kind young vet who came out to see him, the one who fixed Pinky's ear, and she examined him without saying a word for a long time, and during that time the farmer tried not to think anything.  

Then she started to explain what was going on, the swelling, the rapid breathing, the pulse that you could see skipping in his jugular vein, the murmur. Heart failure. 

But how was something like that even possible? How could a heart like that fail? And he had seemed better the past couple of days, and he was eating again after losing so much weight, and he had complete free run of the farm, he could go in his stall or stand in the barn aisle, he could sleep in the front yard or in the garden, the farmer even pretended not to notice when he trampled the kale, who cares about kale anyway, kale is like a weed the way it grows everywhere at a moment's notice, it is a public service getting some of it trampled.

The farmer couldn't think of anything to say, and so the farmer said, "he's only 32."

The young vet nodded. Then Tommy looked at the farmer and for the first time the farmer could see how tired he was, bone tired. The farmer didn't want to see that before, but now it was so clear. Of course.

Sometimes there really isn't anything you can say. And there is only one more thing you can do. 

Later that night - what time was it anyway? Two in the morning? Three? - we saw the farmer walking all over the farm. Looking for something. And not finding it. But just looking. Into the tack room, where Tommy's bridle, the English bridle with the Kimberwick, hung on a hook on the wall. And there was his saddle, the fifty dollar stock saddle from that used tack store in Spanaway, the one that always seemed to fit him even back in the days when he was so fat. So much better than the expensive saddle. Go figure.

Dolly followed the farmer everywhere, two steps behind like an altar boy. Peering into the stalls where the baby goats were sleeping. Down into the fat girl pasture. Then into the front pasture, where the round pen is. The farmer and Dolly sat in the round pen for a long while, side by side. It was such a beautiful night. The lilac was finally blooming, and you could smell it everywhere.

After a while the farmer laid down in the grass, looking up at the sky. There was the bright beautiful moon looking down, almost full.

"That is the Flower Moon, Dolly," the farmer explained, pointing. Dolly looked up, somberly.

"He went home under the Flower Moon."



















1985-2017
there is thunder in our hearts.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Crumpy's Tender Heart

Crumpy enjoys a delicious breakfast whilst the unwashed masses wait foodlessly in their muddy mud pit. How sad for the UM in their MMP, thinks Crumpy. I wish there was something I could do to help them. Maybe a GoFeedMe or something? Or people could donate little crocheted mud socks they could wear? If only they had gotten more famous, like me, the public might care more. Oh well. A few more peas, please.




Monday, April 03, 2017

Outside the Lines With Belle and Crumpet

Butterbean was getting a lot of attention just for the simple fact of not having a tail which can hardly be considered an accomplishment and June Bug was still making headlines and Coco luckily had that shed fall on her which made her famous for what seemed like a long spell - hello! I am Coco! The shed victim! I accept your admiration! -  and Gilbert was learning to pull a cart and the Wembley babies gambolled about picturesquely and all in all Crumpet came down with a touch of Last Year's Baby and so she went in with Belle Starr and together they started a crime spree.

They were both sick and tired of being ignored.  Since they are both criminal masterminds, together they became almost unstoppable. All of their crimes were focused on grain-robbing, switching only temporarily to alfalfa-robbing when the third cutting from Ellensburg came in.

Butterbean would come waddling around in the morning showing off his uninhabited backside and the farmer would chuckle - how cute - and look away for an instant and just as the barn door opened Belle Starr would dart in front of the farmer so that the farmer had to take a step back and when that happened Crumpet would dash in from the other side hellbent toward the grain bins.

The grain bins are locked of course since the farmer is weak-minded but has learned some things the hard way, so when Crumpet got there she would start rapidly circling the grain bins like a little hummingbird while Belle Starr darted in from the other side and began circling the grain bins in the other direction, both running at a good clip and in such a manner that the farmer could not get close enough to open the lids and finally the farmer would sigh loudly and say, "All Right," which was the established checkmate signal and Belle and Crumpet would stop circling and the farmer would open the bins and give them their breakfast in a private dish while everyone else waited outside.

Because otherwise the circling went on forever. And forever is too long to wait for breakfast.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

The Tail of Woe

The sun came out and Beanie and friends forgot about their horns. The horns they used to one day be going to have. But not any more.

They went outside with their mothers on full display to the rest of the herd. The herd watched from behind the fat girl fence.

"That one looks okay," said Winjay, referring to Nelly. "Not great but okay."

"That one is reasonably presentable," said Belle Starr, referring to Bluey.

"I have seen worse looking kids than that one," allowed Abby, looking at Blacky.

Then came Butterbean and an uncomplimentary silence fell.

"I have not seen that before," Cherry finally said.

"That is a new twist," remarked Pebbles.

"Maybe it will come in later," postulated Crumpet, optimistically.

"Even Pinky used to have two ears," blurted Moony.

Beanie proceeded hopping about, ignoring his critics. Because after all everyone is a critic. Throw a rock, hit a critic. He looked perfectly fine after all. From certain angles. When you couldn't see that he didn't have a tail.


Friday, March 24, 2017

All Good Dreamers Pass This Way

Today is a day of bitterness and regret and we will not say anything further about the secrets of Beanie Baby until the sun comes out again and the fog of remorse has lifted. On this day in the Year A.D. 2017 Beanie, Nelly, Blacky* and Bluey* all had their horns removed. They have no comment on anything today. They don't want nobody coming over to their table, they got nothing to talk to anybody about. Over and out.

*temporary names, just for now

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Beanie Baby

So that makes four kids, three bucklings and one doeling. Two of the bucklings are extraordinarily handsome, and the doeling is very beautiful, a cou clair with big glassy frog eyes. Her name is going to be Nelly, short for Cochranella, which is a kind of glass frog with big glassy frog eyes, like an amphibian china doll. If you are guessing that her mother is Froggy you are on the right track.

There are two black and white boys, both belong to Wembley, and they are currently being subjected to the farmer's naming scheme for simpletons - "just for now." One is being called Blacky, and the other, the one with the blue eyes, is being called Bluey. Aside from their names they are excellent specimens. And so is the girl, even if she is a little on the jittery side.

And then we come to Butterbean. That is the last buckling. His name is Butterbean. He got his name right away. The farmer looked at him and said, "hello, Butterbean."

He also belongs to Froggy. But he looks nothing like her. And he looks nothing like his sister, either.

He is a pale drab orangey white, suspiciously like June Bug, his half-sister. He also has her bat ears. He runs like a burlap sack full of old sneakers being thrown down the basement stairs.

"He has a good personality, though," the farmer says, watching him canter about with an expression that says, 'oh, dear.'

He is very chubby and likes to cuddle, and after calling him Butterbean for a while the farmer started calling him Beanie, and it didn't take long after that that we would hear, "Beanie Baby!" and then see him galumphing toward the farmer in all his orange splendor.

Oh dear. And that isn't the worst of it. Worst is yet to be told.

Friday, March 17, 2017

Seven Ways From Sunday

So Wembley started in to laboring and the farmer got the stool for sitting on, the Kindle for reading, the towels, the gatorade, the special treats, the dental floss for the baby goat cords, the iodine for the dipping, the gloves I don't know why because they never get used, the lube because if you don't have it you will always need it, the feed sack for catching babies when they fall out, et cetera and so on.

And Wembley did a lot of preambling, just strolling irritably around and getting up and lying down and examining and then refusing to eat all proferred refreshments, and so on, second verse same as the first. And then she started in to do something that the farmer really does not like: lying down but not pushing, giving one sharp yip of pain, just like she had stepped on a nail, and jumping back up.

This usually means someone is not getting lined up right to come out. "I hope this isn't going to be one of those seven-ways-from-Sunday breech festivals," the farmer said to Dolly, who was lying outside the stall door. Dolly gave a noncommittal look, obviously she didn't want to say anything, but the way things were going, it probably would be a seven-ways-from-Sunday breech festival.

Nothing continued to happen and finally the farmer fished around and sure enough someone's hock was jammed up against the exit door and the farmer went quickly and washed with hot water but by the time the farmer came back two rear legs were out which makes the whole thing a piece of cake and so the farmer just pulled that one out and it was a little hard to start but then it sneezed mightily and all systems were go.

Ok then back to the yipping and sure enough another breech buckling,  but that one came out without too much trouble either and so all in all it could have been much worse. C Minus kidding score.

Two days later Froggy lost her ligaments and the farmer put Froggy in a kidding stall, where Froggy began devouring all the refreshments in sight. "Listen," said the farmer, "I am going to get the supplies and I don't want any more trouble." Froggy was not listening because she was neck deep in the feeder.

The farmer went to get the Kindle, the stool, the dental floss, the iodine, the special treats,  the gloves, the lube, the feed sacks. When the farmer came back Froggy was still neck deep in the feeder only now she had two kids with her, one crybaby buckling and one dreamy-eyed doeling, sway-standing the way the new babies like to do.

"If you want to do it like that," said the farmer, "that is fine with me."

Thursday, March 16, 2017

Beyond the Rumen

Time out from June Bug.

Wembley and Froggy were getting ready to kid. They were neither one very big and the farmer hoped poor Wembley wasn't going to pop a big single buck kid because she is a first freshener and first fresheners have enough trouble anyway but the way things go that's what would probably happen, a big single buck kid with a head like a basketball and stupefied the way the big little boys get from just being big and being bucklings and being somewhat overcooked.

Once you are around goat farmers for a while you will understand their sour phrases. If they start talking about kidding season and one of them asks the other, how did your doe do? And the second one says, sourly, "Single Buck Kid," the first one will understand that it is a good time to say no more.

Last year Froggy was a first freshener and she had a big single buck kid, Tadpole, only she is a Terra Belle daughter and Terra Belle has this thing where she launches kids out like one of those medieval boulder throwers and all you have to do is catch them in a towel so they don't go shooting head first into the wall and Froggy was the same way. Even though her son Tadpole was a fine strapping lad he shot out in record time and luckily landed in a big heap of straw because the farmer was watching the tv news because "There's plenty of time, it's only half an hour long and Froggy won't be kidding for quite a while, she just started lying down."

Ok well the race was on and Wembley went to the kidding stall first. Wembley had been upset since she came up to the big barn because she doesn't like going anywhere without her mother Betty and also because she was a first freshener and she was just upset in general and before long the farmer moved her to a private stall because otherwise she was full of complaints. She kept calling for her mother who ignored her and then she started feeling strange happenings inside herself, deep inside beyond the rumen, and she didn't like that one bit so she would alternate between calling Betty and calling on the Great Goat in the Sky to relieve her indigestion. And they both ignored her.

(to be continued)....




Saturday, March 11, 2017

The HoG Pt 3

All right ok June comes from the Jupiter line and the Jupiter line of course is all Rosasharn and Rosasharn of course like every other line goes back Goodwood and Stonewall because that is where all roads lead, even Twinks Pixie goes back Goodwood. I didn't say it would be interesting I just said it would be history.

These lines were brought in because even though they are different from the Belle lines they are very similar and bla bla bla some theory of breeding bla bla bla milk maximization without personality disorder...bla bla bla. So that is the roots of June.

But does this explain the actual June? Could even Dr. Frankenstein have predicted the actual June? The theoretical June is fine, she looks good on paper, which is where she should have stayed, everyone looks fine on paper, but the actual June. That is another story.

Here is a brief perhaps even scanty list of June's defects and demerits:

1. Food thief. She is only about two inches tall so can sneak anywhere. Will steal from anyone even the herdqueen if there is an escape route nearby.

2. Inadequate height. See above.

3. Inadequate color. Pale sort of drab orange pinkish white. Little black button eyes like a shark. Nondescript to a t.

4. Inadequate respect for elders. See #1.

5. Inadequate respect for superiors (everybody). See #1.

6. Inadequate supply of humility.

This is the tip. Of the iceberg. Will continue with more of her shortcomings in The HoG Pt 4 but we probably have to do a baby update first.

Saturday, March 04, 2017

The History of Goats Part Two

Ok where were we. June.

Ok June is the daughter of Starlord who goes back Drops of Jupiter top and bottom as previously mentioned. How Drops of Jupiter got his name is probably the same way most goats get their name. He was probably named by a girl. And Drops of Jupiter is a girls' pop song by the group Train that came out in 2001, as also previously mentioned in Part One.

There are tons of goats with pop song names for this reason. If you can think of a pop song that little girls and their mothers love there will be goats with that name. In fact there are 14 goats named Drops of Jupiter but only one of them is the famous THE Drops of Jupiter and he is June's great-grandfather and her double great grandfather and a few other relations as well which is how it goes in the goat world where everybody knows everybody. The goat world is a snowglobe, it's the perfect little teapot for a tempest.

The farmer being weak-minded did not know anything about Drops of Jupiter but listened to it once and then dutifully picked out a line from the song for June's name, which is Herron Hill Walks Like June. Only the line from the song is actually Talks Like June, but the farmer as usual wasn't listening that closely, oh well nobody will notice and the papers already got sent in and we are just going to call her June Bug anyway.

June doesn't know anything about Drops of Jupiter either and she wouldn't care if she did, if he is even still alive he is probably just another little pale pink orange red Rosasharn-looking goat like she is and she has no interest in goats, she is only interested in food and people. Or, as she thinks about it, food and the hoofless food delivery systems on two legs.

I'm sorry we didn't really get anywhere in this part. But we will in Part Three.

Friday, March 03, 2017

The History of Goats Part One

The story of June.

June was born into a normal family with normal parents. Reasonably normal parents. Her parents were Faraway and Starlord. It turned out that Starlord was fairly small. Gradually the Nigerian bucks keep creeping up in size and some of them were getting too big especially since the Belle family usually runs to plus sizes this is because they are really good milkers. Faraway is a Poppy-Chaos daughter and the Chaos family being Promisedland also runs above average size so the farmer said OK we better find a little guy somewhere but not one of those shrimps with daughters that don't milk. The farmer is monomaniacal on milk. That is all we hear about. Milk milk milk.

So anyway the farmer found Starlord, who goes back to Drops of Jupiter top and bottom. And Starlord came in to see if he could breed some bigger girls down a little without ruining production.

Drops of Jupiter you are probably saying, isn't that an old Train song? Where the singer has hair from a previous century, has lost his ability to do up buttons, and wears leather pants?

Why yes. It isn't pretty but that is where we have to start.




Saturday, February 25, 2017

The Betweenlands

Nobody really likes them very much and they just don't care. On the other hand nobody really dislikes them very much and they don't care about that either. Really they only care about one thing and that is each other.

This is the case of Blue Jaye and Dinky Dollarbird. They are mother and daughter. Each one is a little polka-dotted blue-eyed church mouse. Their church is the Church of the Third Cutting and the 16% Dairy Grain. They worship at the church as often as possible. They are very pious.

Blue Jaye is the daughter of my aunt, the late lamented Blue Umbrella, who was a daughter of the original Baby Belle. I guess she is my cousin but I don't really think about that. This is a strange branch of the Belle family tree, known for being quiet and mild-mannered. Even my own mother, Blue's sister, was gentle and kind. Possibly at some point they were adopted and the paperwork got lost. Or eaten by someone. Winjay loves paper especially those brown grocery sacks. Anyway Blue was always very polite and never once was put in lockdown. Which just really doesn't make sense to tell the truth.

Back to Blue Jaye and Dinky Dollarbird. Dinky Dollarbird had a nickname for a while, she was called Little Drudgery. This was because she was so morose and sad once she got to be Last Year's Baby and Blue Jaye forgot about her. But when her younger brother went to a new home she returned to Blue Jaye's side and stuck there like glue and her depression disappeared. No more moping and sighing.

Together they carved a life for themselves in the betweenlands.

Wherever they were put they would escape together and settle down right along the fenceline outside the pasture they were supposed to be in, always on the betweens between where they were supposed to be and where they were. This was so they could be around only each other and no one else, they do not like anyone else. When they were put in the fat girl pasture with the fat girls they escaped and set up a little tiny home under the overhang of the fat girl barn. The fat girls were inside the barn, two feet away, but there was a wall between them so that made it okay.

When they were put in the big barn they escaped about eighteen inches away, worming through the fence and taking over Dolly's dogloo next to the gate. It isn't big enough for two normal goats, but it is perfectly fine for them, since there is never any space between them.

When people visit they always ask, what about these two? Are they supposed to be out here? "No," explains the farmer. "But yes."

They eat, they stroll, they murmur and confer on important topics, they sleep. They never make a sound unless they are separated. Then it is Katy bar the door, the air raid siren goes off. Otherwise peace and harmony. Always in the betweenlands.



Wednesday, February 08, 2017

She Was Warned

Ok June Bug got born and spent her days on 24-hour food service, traveling from the milk machine (her mother Faraway) to the hay feeder to the fat girl feeder to the old lady feeder to the fenceline feeder to the horse feeder. She remained pocket size despite her prodigious eating skills and she walked right through the holes in the fence Natty Bumppo style. Like the Leatherstocking she was a goat of many names, a spirit in the grain bin, ghostwalker, feedstuffer, micro-pig, disobediator, white fog. And so on like that. This went on day after day after day after day. After day.

The farmer's patience wore thin. Then thinner and thinner, until it was a sheet of fluttering angry gauze. It could not get any thinner. The farmer said, 'listen, I am not going to tell you again.'

She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted.

And now she is in the lockdown cell with her fellow criminal, Belle Starr. This is what happens.

Wednesday, February 01, 2017

Did You Fall from a Shooting Star?

As far as who is the most tiresome kid ever I always thought it was Crumpet being ferried everywhere in private limousine, dining toute seule by barnlight in the grain bin, taking private piano lessons, wearing dog coats with dog turtlenecks underneath, mewing for her chauffeur at dinner time, ratting out any friendly thrashings she might receive. Crumpet, hands down.

But just when you think the brat bar has been set so high that no one else will ever come near it, along comes June.

Along comes June. Homely monkey-faced hoodlum with ears like two kites.

That is all I can say for now because it sticks in my craw. I will have to tell more later.

June!@!@!@$#$%^^%%$@!!!!