Saturday, March 05, 2011
Top of the Pops
No offense to Darren, but if this is all it takes to get on Britain's Got Talent, then we are going to open a goat talent agency. I mean, come on, even Marty the Nubian knew how to open the door and go in the kitchen and look through the cabinets for fig newtons. And my grandmother Baby Belle invented a time machine. (We can't show it to you right now because she is using it.) On the other hand I guess waving is pretty good for a Nubian.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Breaking News
The sun went in. 34 degrees. For tonight it will either snow or pour down rain. Can't decide which I want. Maybe some of both. Heads they win, tails we lose.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Springless in Seattle
The farmer came out yesterday and announced that the winter is over because Jammies the little Buddha has starting shedding her undercoat out in long woolly strings.
"Good News," said the farmer. "The winter is over and we have Jammies to thank. Thank you, Jammies."
It continued raining and half-snowing stubbornly and when the farmer left Maddy the Sheriff of Crazy Town suggested we all t-bone Jammies.
Brandy said that wouldn't be fair, she is all for t-boning but only when deserved, and she gave Maddy a thrashing.
Outside it continued raining and showering with fierce winds and trees blowing over. Etc Etc Ibid Ad Nauseum. No news from the frogs.
I am starting to think if the spring won't come, maybe we should go to it, wherever it is. It is probably just up the road somewhere, maybe in Purdy. I wouldn't mind walking to stretch my legs. Except for the mud.
Maybe someone would drive us. If someone is going that way anyway and has a little extra room for me and Izzy and Belle Pepper and maybe Blue and Rainy and Betty and Iota and Terra and Hannah Belle let me know. Or even if you just have room for me and Izzy. Don't worry, we're not bringing Moldy.
"Good News," said the farmer. "The winter is over and we have Jammies to thank. Thank you, Jammies."
It continued raining and half-snowing stubbornly and when the farmer left Maddy the Sheriff of Crazy Town suggested we all t-bone Jammies.
Brandy said that wouldn't be fair, she is all for t-boning but only when deserved, and she gave Maddy a thrashing.
Outside it continued raining and showering with fierce winds and trees blowing over. Etc Etc Ibid Ad Nauseum. No news from the frogs.
I am starting to think if the spring won't come, maybe we should go to it, wherever it is. It is probably just up the road somewhere, maybe in Purdy. I wouldn't mind walking to stretch my legs. Except for the mud.
Maybe someone would drive us. If someone is going that way anyway and has a little extra room for me and Izzy and Belle Pepper and maybe Blue and Rainy and Betty and Iota and Terra and Hannah Belle let me know. Or even if you just have room for me and Izzy. Don't worry, we're not bringing Moldy.
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Death March
You know what they say, in like a hatter, out like a hare. March is here and it's just as miserable as February. Mud up to your pasterns, stale hay from last summer, halfway snowing all the time, berries in the water buckets, everybody in a bad mood.
I feel like I am getting older every day, that's how bad it is here.
Send us some sunshine if you have extra. We'll send it back in October.
I feel like I am getting older every day, that's how bad it is here.
Send us some sunshine if you have extra. We'll send it back in October.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The Coldness Continues
The Coldness has not abated. It continues. We have returned to our pile-sleeping method, laying aside our differences, and softly crooning 'Kumbaya' each night when we hear the water in our buckets freezing. Someone's cudding, Lord, Kumbaya. I send my condolences to the prematurely musical frog families who may have perished in this time of frigidity. Also to the little daffodil under the fir tree which turned to glass and shattered when Wendell peed on it. RIP, fragile flower.
ps someone chewed the straps off Peaches' coat and now she can't wear it. Please, you kids out there, please do not chew the straps off coats. Thank you. And don't text while you are head-butting either. Thank you.
ps someone chewed the straps off Peaches' coat and now she can't wear it. Please, you kids out there, please do not chew the straps off coats. Thank you. And don't text while you are head-butting either. Thank you.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
I Do Not Think That They Will Sing to Me
A couple of days ago it was a partly beautiful day. Then yesterday was a snow day then a slush day then a rain day. Then today was rainy followed by showers followed by sunbreaks followed by rain followed by clearing, from the north, which means it will get cold again. 
We are tired of the winter, just dead tired of it, even when it is partly beautiful. They say the winter will go on, and everyone still has a woolly undercoat, Elbie looks like the world's tiniest bighorn sheep (without the horns), and the crazy unbred does are still coming in heat.
All those things mean more winter.
But yesterday, against all odds, the frogs started singing. Each to each.
Speaking of bighorn sheep, here's one, who explains politely to the people in this video that it is time to leave, even giving several courtesy bumps, before he is forced to put his foot down.
We are tired of the winter, just dead tired of it, even when it is partly beautiful. They say the winter will go on, and everyone still has a woolly undercoat, Elbie looks like the world's tiniest bighorn sheep (without the horns), and the crazy unbred does are still coming in heat.All those things mean more winter.
But yesterday, against all odds, the frogs started singing. Each to each.
Speaking of bighorn sheep, here's one, who explains politely to the people in this video that it is time to leave, even giving several courtesy bumps, before he is forced to put his foot down.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Like Dam, Like Kid
Sometimes, anyway. Boxcar Betty is not a troublemaker. Butter would not melt in Peanut's mouth. (Right?) And Cora Belle is a kind and gracious lady. (Maybe?)
But pictured below is Terra Belle, HB's youngest daughter, who has started young on a life of larceny, doing the family proud.
But pictured below is Terra Belle, HB's youngest daughter, who has started young on a life of larceny, doing the family proud.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Uninvited Guest
BD is back.
This afternoon in the broad daylight the farmer came outside and all of us were crammed into a corner of the upper pasture, all faced in the same direction with our backs against the barn, all staring at the same thing.
BD.
BD was all the way up at the down-below feeder. The farmer went in the tack room and came out in a hurry, meaning business, with the rifle.
The farmer got three shots off, none of them coming anywhere near BD, who took off like a blue dart, knowing the difference right away between a pellet gun and a real rifle. The farmer sat outside with the rifle for twenty minutes, peering out at the tall grass, but BD knew better than to show his whiskers.
"All right," said the farmer, and unloaded the rifle, and started walking up to the barn.
Halfway up there came a not quite distant enough sound from two farms over. A big ruckus of squawking chickens.
"Uh oh." said the farmer.
Then we all had to stand still for a head count, as if even BD would tangle with a tanker truck like Betsy. The numbers didn't come out right and the farmer hollered for Izzy.
"Where is Izzy?" yelled the farmer. Nobody answered, we were all still rattled, but I looked around because after all it was a very good question.
The farmer could see I didn't have Izzy and started looking around at all the milkers, but then Penrose took a little step to one side, showing Izzy huddled in a tiny seam between her and the wall of the barn.
Good old Saint Penrose.
This afternoon in the broad daylight the farmer came outside and all of us were crammed into a corner of the upper pasture, all faced in the same direction with our backs against the barn, all staring at the same thing.
BD.
BD was all the way up at the down-below feeder. The farmer went in the tack room and came out in a hurry, meaning business, with the rifle.
The farmer got three shots off, none of them coming anywhere near BD, who took off like a blue dart, knowing the difference right away between a pellet gun and a real rifle. The farmer sat outside with the rifle for twenty minutes, peering out at the tall grass, but BD knew better than to show his whiskers.
"All right," said the farmer, and unloaded the rifle, and started walking up to the barn.
Halfway up there came a not quite distant enough sound from two farms over. A big ruckus of squawking chickens.
"Uh oh." said the farmer.
Then we all had to stand still for a head count, as if even BD would tangle with a tanker truck like Betsy. The numbers didn't come out right and the farmer hollered for Izzy.
"Where is Izzy?" yelled the farmer. Nobody answered, we were all still rattled, but I looked around because after all it was a very good question.
The farmer could see I didn't have Izzy and started looking around at all the milkers, but then Penrose took a little step to one side, showing Izzy huddled in a tiny seam between her and the wall of the barn.
Good old Saint Penrose.
Monday, February 07, 2011
Great Expectations. Or Maybe Not.
Well the farmer did not get around to taking a picture of Jammies I'm sure that comes as a terrible shock. Anyway Jammies is past her expiration date and now won't kid until May unless she kids before then which could happen. She is very rotund but that is no surprise the way she butterballs around the feeder. I personally doubt she is even bred at all.
But maybe she is who knows, Pinky was marked on the chart as a Grade A virgin and it looks to me like she is growing her udder out. Of course there is no way of verifying that since the chart disappeared when the computer crashed. So now there is only uncharted waters all around us up to our neck.
But maybe she is who knows, Pinky was marked on the chart as a Grade A virgin and it looks to me like she is growing her udder out. Of course there is no way of verifying that since the chart disappeared when the computer crashed. So now there is only uncharted waters all around us up to our neck.
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