Our farmer has been getting grumpier and grumpier to the point where you think there is no room for further grumpification. And then the farmer gets even grumpier.
It happens every year but this is the worst with the longest muddiest winter of all time, and the farm getting more and more downtrodden-looking and the mud getting deeper, the paint peeling and the fences sagging and the blown-off-and-reattached roofs flapping like beach towels even if there is only a gentle breeze.
But that isn't the whole problem. Also by this time of year the farmer has run out of candy milk, and then out of mini milk, and then even Nubian-cross milk, and then even LaMancha milk. So the farmer has to go to the store and buy a quart of cow milk. Well I have had cow milk and it isn't that great but I think it must be getting worse because this year the farmer bought cow milk and couldn't drink it and gave it to Wendell.
He took a few polite laps of it and walked away with a pained expression, and this is an animal that eats goatberries and horse hooves with relish. So that is saying something. The farmer went to another store and came back with soy milk. That was not too horrible but when it was gone the farmer got almond milk instead. That was ok but when it was gone the farmer said, "I will just drink black coffee, and eat dry cereal."
Well then out of the blue - or out of the gray, I should say - we somehow got two days in a row without any rain to speak of, which caused all the horses to go into a coma, laying flat out like they only do on sunny days, looking dead as doornails out in the pasture.
And by this time of course Pinky had had her kids and bounced back to her usual self, and even though she is a first freshener she comes from a lot of milk, and she has way more milk than one little kid can drink, as dedicated as he is to his full-time job of round-the-clock milk disposal. So the farmer took some, saying, "don't mind if I do."
And this morning there was a funny sound when the farmer came out to the barn, and it scared Binky half to death since she is part Nubian. Luckily I was there to explain it.
"That is ok, Binkster," I said in a calming tone. "it is just the farmer, whistling."
5 comments :
Oh I can hear it... and I even can taste it.. sweet and creamy like ambrosia... what a lucky boy, your farmer!!!
(Here, we have only three goats: one is a teen and doesn't have milk, one is a young adult and does have milk, and last but not least there is a baby who drinks ALL the milk!)
After all this rain it seems you've had a rainbow....and then you found the pot of GOLD.
The sun is out, the milk is in -- whistling is a grand thing!
Oh, I think you're just making that up. The farmer would NEVER be grumpy. No. Uh,uh. Nope. Wouldn't happen.
By the way, I still don't see a picture of my lovely self in your slide show. However, I wouldn't care so much if you would post a picture of your new super-model buck with the Roseawhatever genes so that I could have something to drool over.
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