I guess this is supposed to a funny video or something, but 1) I think I might know these guys, they look like some cousins of mine and 2) what if they needed to get somewhere? Are they supposed to walk?
Goats Try to Board a Vancouver Bus
Friday, November 13, 2009
Cute?
Some people say LaMancha babies are not very cute. It is true they are not as cute as Nigerian babies. But I think they may have a vestige of cuteness, even the plain black and tan ones. This is Stuart Little, Winnie's little runt, showing off his single spot as one of the farmer's friends tries to engage him in conversation. You decide.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The Mystery of the Shrinking Gate
Something else annoying happened today. I was running to help the farmer put the grain in the buckets when suddenly I was trapped in the swing gate. Every time before this I was able to squeeze right through the gap at the end but this time for some reason I stuck fast. Obviously someone must have come into the barn at night and shortened the gap. Possibly some type of intruder architect or carpenter.
"It looks like you are stuck, Millie," the farmer pointed out helpfully.
The farmer started filling all the grain buckets without me.
"I guess you won't get any grain, Millie," the farmer said. I thought it was a very sad and tragic thing, but the farmer sounded quite chipper. I only gave one little whimper; I am a very stoic goat.
But then the farmer said, "Come on, Melody, you can help me fill the grain buckets."
And the new goat went scampering to help in a very brown-nosed fashion. So then I started bawling. Louder even than Walker the Talker. No justice, no peace.
"It looks like you are stuck, Millie," the farmer pointed out helpfully.
The farmer started filling all the grain buckets without me.
"I guess you won't get any grain, Millie," the farmer said. I thought it was a very sad and tragic thing, but the farmer sounded quite chipper. I only gave one little whimper; I am a very stoic goat.
But then the farmer said, "Come on, Melody, you can help me fill the grain buckets."
And the new goat went scampering to help in a very brown-nosed fashion. So then I started bawling. Louder even than Walker the Talker. No justice, no peace.
Monday, November 09, 2009
My New Friend
Something very annoying happened.
A new goat came here.
Its name is Melody. It follows the farmer everywhere and cries when the farmer leaves.
"Isn't that cute, Millie?" the farmer asked me.
The new goat is small and white and plain and lacks magnificence, unlike me. It lacks personality and style as well. When it first got here the farmer tried putting it with Blue Umbrella. Blue Umbrella gave it a thrashing and it started crying and the farmer came and took it out.
The farmer put it in with me and the babies and my mother. My mother gave it a polite, friendly thrashing and it started crying. Just a very kindly thrashing. Then Zydeco, one of the LaMancha babies, gave it a Soprano Family thrashing and it started crying like an air raid siren, even though it is a yearling and Zydeco is only about six months old. I never really liked Zydeco before that but I can see she has some good points.
The farmer came running like there was some kind of big emergency even though everybody gets a thrashing here at some point in the day. Society is built on thrashings and the promise of thrashings. Without thrashings there would be chaos.
"What is going on?" the farmer said, and took the little goat out and then gave a lecture on The Social Fabric. Can't we all just get along, bla bla bla, and how would we like it, etc etc etc.
We couldn't go out because it was pouring. The farmer gave me a gleamy look and the next thing I knew I was being settled in a stall with the new goat.
"Millie will be your friend," the farmer said, and then went into the house. I tried to give the new goat a thrashing but I am only four months old. Then she tried to give me a thrashing but I am Baby Belle, Jr.
So now I have a new friend. And it's very annoying.
A new goat came here.
Its name is Melody. It follows the farmer everywhere and cries when the farmer leaves.
"Isn't that cute, Millie?" the farmer asked me.
The new goat is small and white and plain and lacks magnificence, unlike me. It lacks personality and style as well. When it first got here the farmer tried putting it with Blue Umbrella. Blue Umbrella gave it a thrashing and it started crying and the farmer came and took it out.
The farmer put it in with me and the babies and my mother. My mother gave it a polite, friendly thrashing and it started crying. Just a very kindly thrashing. Then Zydeco, one of the LaMancha babies, gave it a Soprano Family thrashing and it started crying like an air raid siren, even though it is a yearling and Zydeco is only about six months old. I never really liked Zydeco before that but I can see she has some good points.
The farmer came running like there was some kind of big emergency even though everybody gets a thrashing here at some point in the day. Society is built on thrashings and the promise of thrashings. Without thrashings there would be chaos.
"What is going on?" the farmer said, and took the little goat out and then gave a lecture on The Social Fabric. Can't we all just get along, bla bla bla, and how would we like it, etc etc etc.
We couldn't go out because it was pouring. The farmer gave me a gleamy look and the next thing I knew I was being settled in a stall with the new goat.
"Millie will be your friend," the farmer said, and then went into the house. I tried to give the new goat a thrashing but I am only four months old. Then she tried to give me a thrashing but I am Baby Belle, Jr.
So now I have a new friend. And it's very annoying.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
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!!!"
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!!!"
Monday, October 19, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, October 16, 2009
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!"
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!"
Thursday, October 15, 2009
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.
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.
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