Big Orange

Something has happened to Big Orange. She used to be the Mayor of Crazy Town. Well, she still is. But she has turned super super super sweet, it's very baffling, I wonder if there is some kind of secret contest going on where the sweetest goat wins a truckload of licorice or something. If there is, please email me, I definitely could take my sweetness up several notches if there is a good reason. I don't want to waste a bunch of sweetness though.

Also my daughter Izzy moved out on her own. She is nice when she sees me in the pasture but she has decided she prefers living in the unbelievably dilapidated cabana. The cabana, if they showed it on tv to represent a hillbilly goat shack, would probably be vetoed as being too overdone. It has been 'slated for demolition' for years. The roof has been blown off several times and replaced with decreasing enthusiasm and skill each time. Supposedly it is going to be replaced this summer if it ever stops raining. Which it hasn't.

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.

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.

Breaking News

The sun is out. The sun has been outed by the clouds.

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.

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.

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.

I Was Right

Frogs stopped singing. 6 inches of snow on the way.

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.

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.

Don't Mind If I Do

Take a look at this video, and see if you can guess whose daughter it is.