Thursday, July 10, 2008
We, the down-belows, led by my daughter Hannah Belle who is an expert at taking matters into her own hands, broke through the lower pasture gate and stampeded the hill and the big barn, taking the fat milkers by storm.
Yes, I said it, they are fat. It is because they get WAY TOO MUCH FOOD. The farmer LETS THEM EAT CAKE while we squabble over little crusts of bread!
Vive la Revolution! (or should it be 'le Revolution'?)
As soon as we stormed them a battle ensued that roiled and surged around the barn and then spilled over into the front pasture.
Even the babies got into the act, with Winnie, Jr. and Jaybird throwing down to see who would be King of the Babies.
Even Penrose awakened from her slumbers to join our fearless band.
Actually, Brandy is getting a little bit angry, so we may go back to our own pasture. Not because we are afraid, but because we prefer our humble peasant existence.
Thank you for your time, here comes the farmer, I must run.
Not to mention his other problems, which are too personal to get into. But let's just say that it seems fairly doubtful he will have too many more kids, because the swimmers apparently fell off the lifeboat.
But that doesn't stop him from enjoying the sunshine. Once you are about ten years old, like Marquee, you really get the hang of basking.
And Spenny the border collie now has gray eyebrows and doesn't get all atwitter about fetching sticks any more. She leaves that to Wendell the Pest, who doesn't even really know how to do it. He understands the part about getting the stick, it's the part about bringing it back that has his little boston terrier brain puzzled.
So Spenny basks, too.
And let's not even talk about Tommy the appaloosa. He is the top hound of all the baskervilles, laying flat out like a giant pancake and soaking up all the rays in sight.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Lucky Marquee got a cool bath and a shavedown yesterday and he looks a fright but goodness I'm sure he's comfy. Laddy the nosy Tennessee Walker was following the farmer around like a puppy dog as usual and making it hard to feed everybody but when the farmer turned around and sprayed him with the hose, which usually makes him saunter off to bother someone else, he just stood there basking like a fat dolphin in the hose water.
It's hot. It's way too hot.
Why oh why did I ever get this fur coat?
Saturday, June 28, 2008
And we're not sure how this happened, but a lot of us here have somehow gotten fat, even though we hardly get anything to eat. I for example have to exist on a handful of grain, and it is only because of my extraordinary metabolism that I am still shopping XL. An ordinary goat on this diet would look like a coat hanger.
The horses all look like giant beachballs, and yet every evening they have a temper tantrum when they discover they are not getting grain twice a day. Since it isn't winter. Duh, fat boys.
Only the milkers look reasonably svelte, which is a bitter irony, since they get to eat practically anything they want.
Now that summer is actually here, we plan to start complaining immediately about the heat and too much sun, after nine months of complaining about no heat and endless rain.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
The last baby of the season has been born and his name is Flint. Lori says his name is Flint, Michigan, but that is ridiculous. We just call him Flynnie. He has very pretty buckskin coloring and bright blue eyes.
He is Eo's son.
For some reason Eo has turned neurotic and been doting on him in a most unseemly manner, possibly because she has never had a single kid before. I think she thinks she had another one but misplaced it somewhere so is taking extra special care of the one that's left.
Or maybe she is just a nut job. That could easily be the case.
I always tell my kids, go, walk around, cross the street if you like, live and learn. But that's just me.
Anyway, it has been practically impossible to get the official farm photographer (Lori) to take a picture of Flynnie, because she is obsessed with the hummingbirds.
"Look," she tells everyone, "look, I took another picture of the hummingbird." And then she makes them look at the picture, the ten thousandth picture that looks exactly like all the other pictures. But anyway during a short break in the endless hummingbird photo shoot she finally agreed to take a picture of Flynnie.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Oh well, maybe they are really good milkers or something. I sort of doubt it, though, even though I read on the web site that the winning goat sold for $40,000.
The baby barn here is looking pretty lonely these days; Widget and Buddy left this weekend, and there are only five babies left, and that includes Hap and Jolly, who have already adapted to life in the big baby barn. So we will all be glad when Eo has the last babies of the season ... today? tomorrow? next Friday?
Something like that.
This weekend we had almost springlike weather, which is nice since it has been November for about the last seven months, except in November, which was like January. But then of course today it started back raining.
Hello again, November! We missed you when you were gone for two days!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Boobian Diet:
1. Eat as much as you can. Eat anything that isn't moving. Or if it is just moving slightly, at least give it a taste test. If something LOOKS like food, grab it and run from the crowd - you can always spit it out later if it isn't food. If you hear the crackle of the cookie box being unwrapped, give a desperate bellow and close your eyes and just run to the head of the line, bowling all the pipsqueaks out of the way. It is perfectly fine to stampede across little tots if cookies are involved. It teaches them a valuable lesson.
2. Have at least two kids. Three or four would be better.
3. (This is the most important step). Milk eleven pounds of milk every day.
That's It! Watch the pounds melt away!