Harrowing day yesterday. Ice storm in the morning, trees snapping all day long. Power went out and we thought it would be out for several days since we are almost always last in line to get the power back on. But the power came back on! Then went out. Then came on! Then went off. Then came on! Etc.
None of us set foot outside the barn.
Today's forecast is for flooding, snow melt and rain then wind. Right now the rain is falling in the form of snow.
But the power is on!
Friday, January 20, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Pebbles in the Snow
Pebbles spent 42 seconds in the snow before calling her ride to come pick her up. 11 inches.
Update from Inside the Blizzard
I don't know who is running the weather reports. But it must be a Nubian.
They said that it would be Snowmageddon in Seattle with ten inches of snow. It looks like they have about two inches.
They said we would get about five inches of snow. We have eight.
They said that the snow was tapering off.
And yet mysteriously it is still snowing hard.
Pebbles has volunteered to go and have her picture taken in the virgin snow to see if it is up to her hipbones as promised.
Now she will learn what the word "volunteered" means around here.
They said that it would be Snowmageddon in Seattle with ten inches of snow. It looks like they have about two inches.
They said we would get about five inches of snow. We have eight.
They said that the snow was tapering off.
And yet mysteriously it is still snowing hard.
Pebbles has volunteered to go and have her picture taken in the virgin snow to see if it is up to her hipbones as promised.
Now she will learn what the word "volunteered" means around here.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Peninsula Snow Diary
The snow has begun again.
There is a blizzard. That sound is the farmer cussing.
The snow has sort of stopped.
Clementine doesn't feel good so she is wearing the velcro sport jacket.
Now it is raining and the snow is getting pocked with raindots. There are also a lot of berries in the snow. It is unsightly. Note to self: don't eat snowberries.
Laddy the Tennessee Walker has undone his belly strap for the 38th time in the last week. That sound is the farmer cussing.
Weather says 10 inches of really wet snow from the South tomorrow. This means someone with two legs will have to go up on the roof of the dairy and brush the snow off because otherwise it is too heavy. That sound is the farmer cussing.
We are deciding which of our Caprifections we will make next spring. Certainly cajeta. But what about goat milk fudge or black bottom goat cheese cupcakes? Also perhaps some Baby Belle's buttons, this is just a cute little snowball of chevre with goat milk caramel on top. (cajeta.) Oh well, right now we don't have any milk, it's very sad. I did notice that Abby is secretly still hoarding some milk but no one has noticed.
An ugly gray yellow sun ball is trying to peek through the snow clouds.
Pinky is BWAAAing.
It is rai-now-ing now. That is rain and snow at the same time.
More later. Must get under the tree.
There is a blizzard. That sound is the farmer cussing.
The snow has sort of stopped.
Clementine doesn't feel good so she is wearing the velcro sport jacket.
Now it is raining and the snow is getting pocked with raindots. There are also a lot of berries in the snow. It is unsightly. Note to self: don't eat snowberries.
Laddy the Tennessee Walker has undone his belly strap for the 38th time in the last week. That sound is the farmer cussing.
Weather says 10 inches of really wet snow from the South tomorrow. This means someone with two legs will have to go up on the roof of the dairy and brush the snow off because otherwise it is too heavy. That sound is the farmer cussing.
We are deciding which of our Caprifections we will make next spring. Certainly cajeta. But what about goat milk fudge or black bottom goat cheese cupcakes? Also perhaps some Baby Belle's buttons, this is just a cute little snowball of chevre with goat milk caramel on top. (cajeta.) Oh well, right now we don't have any milk, it's very sad. I did notice that Abby is secretly still hoarding some milk but no one has noticed.
An ugly gray yellow sun ball is trying to peek through the snow clouds.
Pinky is BWAAAing.
It is rai-now-ing now. That is rain and snow at the same time.
More later. Must get under the tree.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Waiting for White
In this film, titled "The Day Before the Snow," everyone prepares ominously for the snow which is forecast to reach to Pebbles' hipbones. It is a Bergmanesque Goat Ballet without any dancing.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Picnic Cancelled
Well it has been no picnic here. If anyone is wondering whether it has been a picnic, no, it has not been a picnic. Betsy Bigoletto had gotten moved out of our pasture which is erroneously known as the fat girl pasture because the fat girls were getting thin because Betsy was eating all the food that we were all supposed to share. It was quite shocking really.
So anyway Betsy got transferred to the high and mighty pasture where she even cowed Wronny with her sheer bulk. This was fantastic, we could actually grab a smattering of grain here and there. Finally, a few blades of hay.
Meanwhile Betsy started wearing out her welcome up at the Hilton. She hurt Brandy's feelings. She t-boned Pinky. She tried to pick Clementine up by her tailfeathers. Nobody seemed to mind any of that.
Then one day in her zeal for calories she bit one of Pebbles' ears. You could have heard a pin drop, because the farmer was standing right there when she did it. Pebbles was rushed immediately to the grain room so that she could stuff herself with grain in an effort to assuage the deep pain of earbiting which only those who have ears can truly appreciate.
So big surprise now we have Betsy back. And on top of that there is a report of impending snow. So there you have it.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
A Break in the Weather
The New Year is upon us and it is a lot like the old year. Today it rained a monsoon and we were stuck inside. Then the farmer threw us out just as it was getting dark to muck the stalls.
"Get out," the farmer snapped at everybody. "There is a break in the weather and you can all go and pee outside for a change."
Not so much as an "if you feel like it." Or "if you wouldn't mind."
Everyone shambled outside except Brandy who didn't feel like it. The farmer was not in a mood.
"Fine," snapped the farmer, and Brandy got booted into the fat girl pasture.
Not so much as a "right this way." Or a "thank you for coming." No, not today.
"What does it mean, 'a break in the weather?' " asked Pebbles as we stood under a tree observing the downpour burbling in sheets and rivers all around us. The winter ducks quacked distantly from Lost Beaver Lake down the hill.
"It means the weather is broken," explained Abby. "Like the roof on the buck shed."
"Where the rain comes in?" asked Pebbles.
"Exactly," said Abby, pointedly.
Pinky began to bawl bitterly. She was standing directly under the downpour, experiencing the break in the weather up close and personal, and the Nubian part of her brain was filling with sadness, a great lake of sadness that could only be expressed through bitter bawling.
"BWAA!" she called.
"BWAA!" she responded, in fierce agreement with herself.
That was today.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
The Greatest Hits of 2011
Well it is the end of the year and time to review the most popular posts of 2011.
Coming in at Number One was a post about Raw Milk Pants. We are going to make a pair for Wendell for the spring.
Number One: Raw Milk Pants.
At Number Two was a post that is several years old. But it has always been very popular, especially at Christmastime. We couldn't understand why until we got some emails from Japan about it. When people are learning to speak English in Japan they read a lot of Dickens. When they get to the end of "A Christmas Carol," they don't understand what it means. So they google the phrase "Total Abstinence Principle." And then they get sucked up into the long winding Internet tubes and spit out at a little Dickensian goat farm in Western Washington. God Bless Them, Every One.
Number Two: The Total Abstinence Principle.
At Number Three we have the mysteriously popular triumph of Pebbles at the State Fair.
Number Three: That's Right.
At Number Four, the Return of B.D., starring Saint Penrose.
Number Four: Uninvited Guest.
At Number Five: the first photo of Clementine the Fairy Goat.
Number Five: In a Cavern, In a Canyon, Excavating for a Mine.
Number Six needs no introduction.
Number Six: At Your Service.
Number Seven: Adorable baby goat needs new name.
Number Eight: Horrors, Pebbles outgrows her stolen parka.
Number Nine: Occupy the KP.
Number Ten: My New Sisters.
Coming in at Number One was a post about Raw Milk Pants. We are going to make a pair for Wendell for the spring.
Number One: Raw Milk Pants.
At Number Two was a post that is several years old. But it has always been very popular, especially at Christmastime. We couldn't understand why until we got some emails from Japan about it. When people are learning to speak English in Japan they read a lot of Dickens. When they get to the end of "A Christmas Carol," they don't understand what it means. So they google the phrase "Total Abstinence Principle." And then they get sucked up into the long winding Internet tubes and spit out at a little Dickensian goat farm in Western Washington. God Bless Them, Every One.
Number Two: The Total Abstinence Principle.
At Number Three we have the mysteriously popular triumph of Pebbles at the State Fair.
Number Three: That's Right.
At Number Four, the Return of B.D., starring Saint Penrose.
Number Four: Uninvited Guest.
At Number Five: the first photo of Clementine the Fairy Goat.
Number Five: In a Cavern, In a Canyon, Excavating for a Mine.
Number Six needs no introduction.
Number Six: At Your Service.
Number Seven: Adorable baby goat needs new name.
Number Eight: Horrors, Pebbles outgrows her stolen parka.
Number Nine: Occupy the KP.
Number Ten: My New Sisters.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
How to Lose the Post-Christmas Blues
Well we got all the way through Christmas without any much rain. So then everybody had to put a jinx on things by talking about how this could turn out to be the driest December ever. So the dam burst and it has settled into a steady downpour which makes everyone feel gloomy and by the amount of rain we have had the last two days even with several days left in the month I can pretty much guarantee that this will not be the driest anything.
We also were entering a post-Christmas depression because we had eaten all the treats we were given including a bag of stale peanuts the farmer found in a box that went to the fair three months ago and I waited to see if Betsy would suffer any ill effects after gobbling several of them but they were just fine except they tasted a bit ribbony.
Anyway what should happen but we get one of those little pink slips in the mailbox telling the farmer there is a package at the post office since the USPS out here can't be bothered to bring you the packages, they will only bring the little pink slips as if they tried to deliver the package, even going so far as to hand you the slip when you happen to be down at the mailbox with its jolly note saying that we "tried" to deliver the package but you weren't home or something. But anyway that is another story for a grumpy day.
The farmer went to the post office and there was a package from Missouri for Pebbles.
Inside many many excellent treats, including peanuts and pretzels and instructions for how they should be distributed.
Some of the stipulations were a bit onerous ("be nice to Pebbles", etc) but in light of the treats belonging mostly to Pebbles I have decided to abide by them. Until the treats are gone.
We also were entering a post-Christmas depression because we had eaten all the treats we were given including a bag of stale peanuts the farmer found in a box that went to the fair three months ago and I waited to see if Betsy would suffer any ill effects after gobbling several of them but they were just fine except they tasted a bit ribbony.
Anyway what should happen but we get one of those little pink slips in the mailbox telling the farmer there is a package at the post office since the USPS out here can't be bothered to bring you the packages, they will only bring the little pink slips as if they tried to deliver the package, even going so far as to hand you the slip when you happen to be down at the mailbox with its jolly note saying that we "tried" to deliver the package but you weren't home or something. But anyway that is another story for a grumpy day.
The farmer went to the post office and there was a package from Missouri for Pebbles.
Inside many many excellent treats, including peanuts and pretzels and instructions for how they should be distributed.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
The Joyful Noise
Jammies and Wronny are nothing alike. But they are birds of a feather. They live in a silent world.
Wronny could be having a set of big-headed breech quadruplet bucklings, or she could have one of her hooves slammed in a car door, and she would not make a peep. Jammies is just the same, a little church mouse.
I don't understand it myself, if I need some food I want the management to know about it. Or if I have an itchy spot, I like to notify the farmer. Also when I am having my babies I want to arrange the special treats in advance, not at the last minute when they might be out of swedish fish at the store. And if Pinky is t-boning me, surely that is a good time to call 911. That's what it's for, after all.
But not Jammies. Jammies' plan is to scamper away from trouble and to keep mum on almost every topic, just like Wronny. Except for the scampering, they are temperamental twins. Wronny is the Queen, and she doesn't scamper.
So anyway this week Jammies came into heat and she was ushered into the buck pen and even though she likes to leave the station immediately once she has been serviced - she is not one to linger and chat about the Iowa Caucuses - it was a busy day and Jammies did not get any exit visa. Instead she stayed silently in the buck pen all that day, running like a cat on a hot tin roof to stay one step ahead of the buck.
Several times I looked over and she was panting heavily; her winter coat looks like ten fluffy layers of pashmina. Luckily before long Big Orange came into heat and went and stood outside the fence of the buck pen, and this created a distraction that gave Jammies some breathing room.
The next day the farmer had to go to town and didn't get home until after dark, and so Jammies spent two days in the buck pen. And by that time she was resigned to it.
"I guess this is my new life," she said to herself, and she picked out a corner of the pen that was farthest from the buck but still upwind - with the best escape routes - and she settled in to live the rest of her life in the Garden of Smelly Aerobic Exercise.
And she never complained or called 911 and just then of course the farmer came down and said, "Jammies! It is Christmas Eve! You come out of there!"
And Jammies scampered like a little white tornado out of the buck pen, as fast as anyone could hope to go on inch-long micro-mancha legs - and she ran like the wind toward the barn, and halfway up the hill she couldn't stop herself, she started bucking and dancing with delight, and she made a joyful noise for all the world to hear.
And lo, the next day it was Christmas.
Wronny could be having a set of big-headed breech quadruplet bucklings, or she could have one of her hooves slammed in a car door, and she would not make a peep. Jammies is just the same, a little church mouse.
I don't understand it myself, if I need some food I want the management to know about it. Or if I have an itchy spot, I like to notify the farmer. Also when I am having my babies I want to arrange the special treats in advance, not at the last minute when they might be out of swedish fish at the store. And if Pinky is t-boning me, surely that is a good time to call 911. That's what it's for, after all.
But not Jammies. Jammies' plan is to scamper away from trouble and to keep mum on almost every topic, just like Wronny. Except for the scampering, they are temperamental twins. Wronny is the Queen, and she doesn't scamper.
So anyway this week Jammies came into heat and she was ushered into the buck pen and even though she likes to leave the station immediately once she has been serviced - she is not one to linger and chat about the Iowa Caucuses - it was a busy day and Jammies did not get any exit visa. Instead she stayed silently in the buck pen all that day, running like a cat on a hot tin roof to stay one step ahead of the buck.
Several times I looked over and she was panting heavily; her winter coat looks like ten fluffy layers of pashmina. Luckily before long Big Orange came into heat and went and stood outside the fence of the buck pen, and this created a distraction that gave Jammies some breathing room.
The next day the farmer had to go to town and didn't get home until after dark, and so Jammies spent two days in the buck pen. And by that time she was resigned to it.
"I guess this is my new life," she said to herself, and she picked out a corner of the pen that was farthest from the buck but still upwind - with the best escape routes - and she settled in to live the rest of her life in the Garden of Smelly Aerobic Exercise.
And she never complained or called 911 and just then of course the farmer came down and said, "Jammies! It is Christmas Eve! You come out of there!"
And Jammies scampered like a little white tornado out of the buck pen, as fast as anyone could hope to go on inch-long micro-mancha legs - and she ran like the wind toward the barn, and halfway up the hill she couldn't stop herself, she started bucking and dancing with delight, and she made a joyful noise for all the world to hear.
And lo, the next day it was Christmas.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The Winner...
Well it is time to tell the correct answer to the quiz. The correct answer is Big Orange.
Big Orange does not belong in the photo for all the reasons mentioned:
1. She is not polled, and has never had any hermaphrodite children.
2. She has a distinct advantage in the mammary system.
3. She is orange.
4. She is a goat.
5. She is a productive member of society.
6. She has no implants of any kind.
7. She is a strict vegetarian, and can be trusted with a knife.
But first and foremost, Big Orange does not belong in the picture because she is a Bigoletto and not a Kardashian.
Congratulations to our winner pictishwitch!
Applause applause applause.
In other exciting news, Pebbles has gotten bigger than Sandy, who was almost twice Pebbles' size at birth. Congratulations to Pebbles, who worked her way up from Peanut size to Plus size through sheer determination and diligent round-the-clock eating.
Scattered polite applause.
In yet more thrilling news, Wendell has had his rightful jacket returned to him and wears it proudly as he hogs heat in front of the stove.
Tepid congratulatory murmur.
Big Orange does not belong in the photo for all the reasons mentioned:
1. She is not polled, and has never had any hermaphrodite children.
2. She has a distinct advantage in the mammary system.
3. She is orange.
4. She is a goat.
5. She is a productive member of society.
6. She has no implants of any kind.
7. She is a strict vegetarian, and can be trusted with a knife.
But first and foremost, Big Orange does not belong in the picture because she is a Bigoletto and not a Kardashian.
Congratulations to our winner pictishwitch!
Applause applause applause.
In other exciting news, Pebbles has gotten bigger than Sandy, who was almost twice Pebbles' size at birth. Congratulations to Pebbles, who worked her way up from Peanut size to Plus size through sheer determination and diligent round-the-clock eating.
Scattered polite applause.
In yet more thrilling news, Wendell has had his rightful jacket returned to him and wears it proudly as he hogs heat in front of the stove.
Tepid congratulatory murmur.
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