Monday, December 13, 2010
Dogs Can Be So Helpful
Sometimes. Like here, or here. Does Wendell ever do anything like this? No, he is a pest. But Spenny always opens the shower door and steps discreetly inside if she has to take a leak and no one is home to let her out. Now that's helpful.
Rain Rain Go Away
We only got about five inches of rain during the Atmospheric River. No big deal. We have never seen Lost Beaver Lake so high though, and now it is pouring again when they promised the rain was over. Obviously it hurts one's feelings even if one is only mildly flooded. Expressions of concern and sympathy, in the form of ginger snaps or licorice, can be sent to the following address:
Million Belles
c/o Herron Hill Dairy
Home, Wa.
Please put a little note: to be opened by addressee only and not any of addressee's so-called friends.
Thanks.
Million Belles
c/o Herron Hill Dairy
Home, Wa.
Please put a little note: to be opened by addressee only and not any of addressee's so-called friends.
Thanks.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Dive! Dive! Dive!
The weather people I guess got a new boss or something because they have changed the name of the thing they used to call "The Pineapple Express." Maybe that sounded too jolly, like there would be music and grass skirts (yum) and hula dancing instead of torrential downpours and water up to your neck.
Speaking of grass skirts (yum) Maddy (The Sheriff of Crazy Town) is in trouble for eating a broom. She has a long neck and she just reached over the stall wall and helped herself. It was hanging on a hook on the wall, which was a strategic error. She only ate the bottom sweeping part but still she got the riot act like she even cares. I wouldn't eat a broom myself unless it was made of wheat straw.
Anyway I got off track. "The Pineapple Express" is coming in a couple of hours. Only now it is called an "Atmospheric River." We are battening. Or actually, we are watching the farmer batten. The last time we had a big "Atmospheric River" we got nine inches of rain. Around here, since we are on a hill, once you get to three or four inches it really doesn't matter any more.
So that's what's happening. Not news, really, it happens every year. But we all look forward to the day when "The Pineapple Express" aka "The Atmospheric River" will be called "A Ton of Third Cutting Dairy Alfalfa from Eastern Oregon" or "All the Field Peas You Can Eat" or even "A Big Bag of Black Licorice."
I am practicing for that sweet day with some vocal exercises.
"A Big Bag of Black Licorice" is coming! Hold on to your beards!
Speaking of grass skirts (yum) Maddy (The Sheriff of Crazy Town) is in trouble for eating a broom. She has a long neck and she just reached over the stall wall and helped herself. It was hanging on a hook on the wall, which was a strategic error. She only ate the bottom sweeping part but still she got the riot act like she even cares. I wouldn't eat a broom myself unless it was made of wheat straw.
Anyway I got off track. "The Pineapple Express" is coming in a couple of hours. Only now it is called an "Atmospheric River." We are battening. Or actually, we are watching the farmer batten. The last time we had a big "Atmospheric River" we got nine inches of rain. Around here, since we are on a hill, once you get to three or four inches it really doesn't matter any more.
So that's what's happening. Not news, really, it happens every year. But we all look forward to the day when "The Pineapple Express" aka "The Atmospheric River" will be called "A Ton of Third Cutting Dairy Alfalfa from Eastern Oregon" or "All the Field Peas You Can Eat" or even "A Big Bag of Black Licorice."
I am practicing for that sweet day with some vocal exercises.
"A Big Bag of Black Licorice" is coming! Hold on to your beards!
Thursday, December 02, 2010
No Telling
It is breeding season and various ladies from around the Peninsula have been coming to visit the gentlemen here if that is what you like to call them.
The gentlemen are all big and smelly, except for Jackie. He is little and smelly. Really you have to tie a handkerchief around your nose and mouth if you want to go anywhere near them. I avoid them like the plague. Drive-through buck service is definitely the way to go.
But when the ladies come into heat they start bawling and flagging their tails and this causes their brains to shut off. When it happened to me, I could not even remember my name. So they don't seem to notice anything amiss in the Old Spice department. Then again, at this time of year, there is no telling what may happen.
Our old friend Gracie had gone into heat, she was bawling and flagging which is the universal sign of the cerebral cortex having shut down, and she came back to visit. At first she seemed halfway inclined to meet Junior. Junior was all for it and he came thundering out like a boxcar full of dead fish.
But then Gracie got a sudden blank look and sat right down on the ground. Not really, her expression said. I don't think so.
Gracie's owner Mo worried Gracie might have broken her leg or something but no, she was just putting the kibosh on Junior. Oh well, there's no telling.
Off she went to see if she liked Jackie any better. Once again, he was all for it. Gracie headed him around the stall like a little soccer ball.
Not really, her expression said. I don't think so.
Oh well, said the farmer, there's just no telling, she can stay overnight with Cowboy and see what happens. Gracie stayed overnight and when the farmer came out in the morning she and Cowboy were sleeping in opposite corners of the stall, each pretending the other was invisible.
Not really, Gracie's expression said. I don't think so, said Cowboy's.
The farmer told Gracie's owner that it didn't seem like Grace was really in the mood, so it was probably no use staying any longer. So they came and got her.
When she got home she went and stood by the fence line, bawling and flagging her tail.
Oh well. This time of year, there's just no telling.
The gentlemen are all big and smelly, except for Jackie. He is little and smelly. Really you have to tie a handkerchief around your nose and mouth if you want to go anywhere near them. I avoid them like the plague. Drive-through buck service is definitely the way to go.
But when the ladies come into heat they start bawling and flagging their tails and this causes their brains to shut off. When it happened to me, I could not even remember my name. So they don't seem to notice anything amiss in the Old Spice department. Then again, at this time of year, there is no telling what may happen.
Our old friend Gracie had gone into heat, she was bawling and flagging which is the universal sign of the cerebral cortex having shut down, and she came back to visit. At first she seemed halfway inclined to meet Junior. Junior was all for it and he came thundering out like a boxcar full of dead fish.
But then Gracie got a sudden blank look and sat right down on the ground. Not really, her expression said. I don't think so.
Gracie's owner Mo worried Gracie might have broken her leg or something but no, she was just putting the kibosh on Junior. Oh well, there's no telling.
Off she went to see if she liked Jackie any better. Once again, he was all for it. Gracie headed him around the stall like a little soccer ball.
Not really, her expression said. I don't think so.
Oh well, said the farmer, there's just no telling, she can stay overnight with Cowboy and see what happens. Gracie stayed overnight and when the farmer came out in the morning she and Cowboy were sleeping in opposite corners of the stall, each pretending the other was invisible.
Not really, Gracie's expression said. I don't think so, said Cowboy's.
The farmer told Gracie's owner that it didn't seem like Grace was really in the mood, so it was probably no use staying any longer. So they came and got her.
When she got home she went and stood by the fence line, bawling and flagging her tail.
Oh well. This time of year, there's just no telling.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Harmony and the Polar Express
Q: Can't We All Just Get Along?
A: Yes, if it is cold enough.
Around here we are used to the Pineapple Express. It comes in the winter from Hawaii, dumping gallons and gallons of rain and bringing a clammy unseasonable warmth, sometimes even 60 degrees in January. Occasionally during the Pineapple Express a bunch of flies will wake up, thinking it is April, and flutter around groggily until the Express blows out of town.
We are not used to the Polar Express. Last night was an all-time record low of 8 degrees here, making Monday's 30 degree snowstorm a pleasant memory.
After the snow the sky cleared ominously, north to south, turning a bright bitter blue and bringing in the Arctic wind from Canada. That is not how we like it here. We like our wind from the West, even if it means the Pineapple Express. That is what we are set up for.
The farmer has been stamping around babysitting the pipes with wraps and heaters and every tap turned to dripping and half the time on bended knee praying to the God of Plumbing: dear Lord, please help the pipes and keep them whole in their hour of need amen dear Lord.
As far as us goats the farmer does not seem too concerned, although Izzy did get rescued and plunked into the Nigerian refugee stall with the rest of us.
That's ok because we have our own system. When it is 50 degrees or 40 degrees or 30 degrees we keep to our usual hierarchy. When it is 20 we start to make exceptions: for example the night before last we allowed Cherry's daughter Bing to sleep in our pile even though she is only half Nigerian.
When it got down to 10, we abandoned the hierarchy completely. All the goats from the snow-filled cabana piled into the barn together into a single heap. Pinky, Jr. (the lamb) was lying by Brandy (the lion); Wronny pretended not to notice that Jimmy and Jimmy Jr. were invading her space; Winnie turned a blind eye to the appearance of Betsy, whom she normally cannot tolerate.
Meanwhile one of our flickers fell out of a tree, stone cold dead and frozen solid. So sorry, little flicker, best to travel with a herd during the Polar Express.
By midnight last night Penrose, being a Swiss goat, had to get up and move closer to the door - she was getting too hot in the pile. "Excuse me, won't you," she asked politely as she tiptoed to a new spot, taking care not to step on anyone and freeing up a heat pocket in the middle for Xie Xie to roll into.
Sometimes, we are the world.
A: Yes, if it is cold enough.
Around here we are used to the Pineapple Express. It comes in the winter from Hawaii, dumping gallons and gallons of rain and bringing a clammy unseasonable warmth, sometimes even 60 degrees in January. Occasionally during the Pineapple Express a bunch of flies will wake up, thinking it is April, and flutter around groggily until the Express blows out of town.
We are not used to the Polar Express. Last night was an all-time record low of 8 degrees here, making Monday's 30 degree snowstorm a pleasant memory.
After the snow the sky cleared ominously, north to south, turning a bright bitter blue and bringing in the Arctic wind from Canada. That is not how we like it here. We like our wind from the West, even if it means the Pineapple Express. That is what we are set up for.
The farmer has been stamping around babysitting the pipes with wraps and heaters and every tap turned to dripping and half the time on bended knee praying to the God of Plumbing: dear Lord, please help the pipes and keep them whole in their hour of need amen dear Lord.
As far as us goats the farmer does not seem too concerned, although Izzy did get rescued and plunked into the Nigerian refugee stall with the rest of us.
That's ok because we have our own system. When it is 50 degrees or 40 degrees or 30 degrees we keep to our usual hierarchy. When it is 20 we start to make exceptions: for example the night before last we allowed Cherry's daughter Bing to sleep in our pile even though she is only half Nigerian.
When it got down to 10, we abandoned the hierarchy completely. All the goats from the snow-filled cabana piled into the barn together into a single heap. Pinky, Jr. (the lamb) was lying by Brandy (the lion); Wronny pretended not to notice that Jimmy and Jimmy Jr. were invading her space; Winnie turned a blind eye to the appearance of Betsy, whom she normally cannot tolerate.
Meanwhile one of our flickers fell out of a tree, stone cold dead and frozen solid. So sorry, little flicker, best to travel with a herd during the Polar Express.
By midnight last night Penrose, being a Swiss goat, had to get up and move closer to the door - she was getting too hot in the pile. "Excuse me, won't you," she asked politely as she tiptoed to a new spot, taking care not to step on anyone and freeing up a heat pocket in the middle for Xie Xie to roll into.
Sometimes, we are the world.
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