It has been a hair-raising week. Moldy had a little son his name is Chance. She is devilishly attached to him and bursts out screaming if she can't see him for even an instant.
All the helpers disappeared just in time for the first round of haying and the farmer was picking up hay alone and the tailgate on the truck was broken and you would not believe the cussing that filled the air. It was a symphony of cussing even I was impressed and I have heard some cussing in my day.
Fritzi and Frodo went to their new home and for some reason everybody got upset about this even though they are just two little LaMancha wethers. Penrose couldn't help it she gave the farmer a lot of accusing looks since she had adopted Frodo and was feeding him when nobody else would and she kept staring at the farmer after they left as if to say "et tu, farmer?" and this did not improve the mood of the place one iota and then Betty got into the wrong pasture and all in all it was a good week to take a black Magic Marker and just cross all seven days off the calendar and don't look back and I think that is what we will do so please don't ever mention this week again and if you have to make a comment try to be sure that your comment is pleasant and cheery or maybe just a little poem you wrote about the sun coming up in the morning with rays of golden joy and nothing about sorrow or heartbreak or broken-down machinery or hay.
Thank you.
Monday, July 09, 2012
Monday, July 02, 2012
Cory Anderson and the Surfing Goat
On Saturday Chella had a little drab baby it was a girl of course since Fred only has doe kids and it popped out without causing much trouble. It isn't flashy like the others it only has one or two spots and it cries a lot for no apparent reason and it is constantly falling asleep just when everybody goes somewhere else and then waking up and bleating like a Highland sheep.
Its name is going to be Coriander but everyone calls it Cory Anderson which doesn't make any sense. The baby is not smart enough to have a name like Cory Anderson. It needs a name like Spot. Right now I can see the baby looking around blankly whenever anyone says Cory Anderson. Coriander was bad enough. No one consults me or these problems wouldn't happen.
Okay anyway yesterday the farmer went to feed down below and there was a little goat waiting at the gate when the farmer came out and the farmer yelled, "Terra Belle! I have just about had it with you jumping over that fence and you better get back inside right now or you won't get any dinner."
Terra Belle, Hannah Belle's two year old daughter, has been jumping the fence that didn't get fixed and parading around the pasture looking for snacks.
The little goat ignored what the farmer said, not out of rudeness but because it wasn't Terra Belle. It was the new Baby Belle. It had gotten out of its pen somehow and come up to the gate. Charlie was running the fenceline and bawling. He was still locked in the pen.
Our farmer is weak-minded as you probably know and just went on about the feeding, pulling the tractor with the feed bucket and the hay bales into the pasture and shutting the gate and driving down to feed everybody and the new Baby Belle ran alongside a few steps and then did a very nice grand jete and landed in the tractor bucket about three feet up in the air and commenced eating the grain in the feed bucket, not minding that the tractor was heading downhill at a pretty good clip.
"You better get out of there Terra Belle, " the farmer yelled. "You have never done that before and I do not want you starting now!"
The farmer went blathering on down the hill still yelling at the new Baby Belle and wiggling the tractor bucket up and down to try to dislodge the intruder but the intruder held fast, head down in the bucket, surfing along unfazed by any of the farmer's threats and promises.
The farmer doesn't know it yet, but we are going to need a new horse trailer.
The one we have won't hold this girl.
Its name is going to be Coriander but everyone calls it Cory Anderson which doesn't make any sense. The baby is not smart enough to have a name like Cory Anderson. It needs a name like Spot. Right now I can see the baby looking around blankly whenever anyone says Cory Anderson. Coriander was bad enough. No one consults me or these problems wouldn't happen.
Okay anyway yesterday the farmer went to feed down below and there was a little goat waiting at the gate when the farmer came out and the farmer yelled, "Terra Belle! I have just about had it with you jumping over that fence and you better get back inside right now or you won't get any dinner."
Terra Belle, Hannah Belle's two year old daughter, has been jumping the fence that didn't get fixed and parading around the pasture looking for snacks.
The little goat ignored what the farmer said, not out of rudeness but because it wasn't Terra Belle. It was the new Baby Belle. It had gotten out of its pen somehow and come up to the gate. Charlie was running the fenceline and bawling. He was still locked in the pen.
Our farmer is weak-minded as you probably know and just went on about the feeding, pulling the tractor with the feed bucket and the hay bales into the pasture and shutting the gate and driving down to feed everybody and the new Baby Belle ran alongside a few steps and then did a very nice grand jete and landed in the tractor bucket about three feet up in the air and commenced eating the grain in the feed bucket, not minding that the tractor was heading downhill at a pretty good clip.
"You better get out of there Terra Belle, " the farmer yelled. "You have never done that before and I do not want you starting now!"
The farmer went blathering on down the hill still yelling at the new Baby Belle and wiggling the tractor bucket up and down to try to dislodge the intruder but the intruder held fast, head down in the bucket, surfing along unfazed by any of the farmer's threats and promises.
The farmer doesn't know it yet, but we are going to need a new horse trailer.
The one we have won't hold this girl.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Welcome Home, Baby Belle
Well it is very funny how things turn out sometimes.
Last year Hannah Belle had two kids, a buckling and a doeling. A nice family wanted them.
"What are you going to call them?" the farmer asked. The family said that they were going to call the boy Charlie. And they would call the little doeling Belle. The farmer did not say anything, just nodded. Charlie and Belle. We did not know it then, because how can you ever know anything until it happens, but they would be Hannah Belle's last surviving kids.
For one year Belle and Charlie lived nearby. And they were fat and happy. Charlie was a wether, and he lived the Life of Riley. Everywhere Belle went, Charlie went. Everywhere Charlie went, Belle went.
Then one day the family called the farmer and said that they were moving to Hawaii.
"Hawaii," said the farmer. The farmer hates hot weather. The farmer would rather move to the Moon than to Hawaii.
They wondered if Charlie and Belle could come back to live at the farm.
If you are ever wondering do we have any strict unbreakable policies, any edicts set in stone, the answer is yes, we have two strict rules. One: No wethers. Two: No returns.
I felt a little misty-eyed for the two darling tots, but what is the point of having strict rules if everything is always an exception. Anyway, somebody else would probably want them, they are extremely good-looking and personable like all my relatives, so que sera, sera. And so on.
But apparently it is true what they say: the exception proves the rule. And the proof of that is the two new residents at Herron Hill Dairy.
Welcome home, Charlie.
Welcome home, Belle.
Last year Hannah Belle had two kids, a buckling and a doeling. A nice family wanted them.
"What are you going to call them?" the farmer asked. The family said that they were going to call the boy Charlie. And they would call the little doeling Belle. The farmer did not say anything, just nodded. Charlie and Belle. We did not know it then, because how can you ever know anything until it happens, but they would be Hannah Belle's last surviving kids.
For one year Belle and Charlie lived nearby. And they were fat and happy. Charlie was a wether, and he lived the Life of Riley. Everywhere Belle went, Charlie went. Everywhere Charlie went, Belle went.
Then one day the family called the farmer and said that they were moving to Hawaii.
"Hawaii," said the farmer. The farmer hates hot weather. The farmer would rather move to the Moon than to Hawaii.
They wondered if Charlie and Belle could come back to live at the farm.
If you are ever wondering do we have any strict unbreakable policies, any edicts set in stone, the answer is yes, we have two strict rules. One: No wethers. Two: No returns.
I felt a little misty-eyed for the two darling tots, but what is the point of having strict rules if everything is always an exception. Anyway, somebody else would probably want them, they are extremely good-looking and personable like all my relatives, so que sera, sera. And so on.
But apparently it is true what they say: the exception proves the rule. And the proof of that is the two new residents at Herron Hill Dairy.
Welcome home, Charlie.
Welcome home, Belle.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Good Goatiquette
I would like to just say a few words about good manners because good manners are the foundation of any civilized society even a human society will not function correctly without good manners. For a goat society good manners are the only thing between us and complete chaos.
For example the Crackpot Oregonian was sharing a stall with Blue and she was bullying Blue mercilessly, as I already reported. Blue is the type to take things lying down. Or to get up and move. She is a peace-love-and-understanding goat. Not my style, but whatever.
Anyway Abby had trumped Blue and she would not accept victory gracefully. Instead she continued to bully Blue when Blue was already fully bullied. This is not good manners. She should watch how Wronny does it. Wronny has no problem with anybody who obeys her. She does not waste time and energy t-boning the obsequious.
But Abby was drunk with power and she kept on. She went to the limit. And then she went over the limit.
Blue has a long fuse. But it isn't an endless fuse. And yesterday when the farmer was at a goat show Jen was watching the farm and she called the farmer to report that she had had to separate Abby and Blue because Blue was thrashing Abby within an inch of her life.
Our farmer is weak-minded and gave a distracted response from ringside - "oh, I see, okay, that's too bad," - and made a mental note that Jen must have Blue and Abby mixed up even though Jen is not weak-minded like the farmer.
The farmer came home and discovered that in fact Blue had finally turned into the Incredible Hulk, and Abby had reaped the whirlwind, which could have been avoided if only she had had good manners. Well, what can you do, she was born in a barn.
Meanwhile, back at the goat show, a parade of beautiful Poppy Patch does took the Senior Nigerian show by storm, picking up one after another of the grands and reserves in the three different rings. The beautiful Mae West won one ring, Angel won another, Duchess won the third.
The farmer had come with the farmer from Minter Bay and four goats, all from the Cora Belle family, two daughters and two granddaughters. Wedding Belles was the only senior and she did very well, coming in second in two rings.
Then the junior show began and Cora Belle's daughter Hazelnut waltzed out into the first ring, where she was one of a very few junior kids who actually appeared to walk rather than sproing and scream and turn magically into an indignant living dust mop collecting shavings along the floor. She won the grand champion, and her niece - Cora Belle's granddaughter Coraline - was the reserve.
Now if a person didn't know any better or didn't have good manners, they would go ahead and put Hazelnut in the next ring to see if she could win again. But what would be the point of that, anyway, since only one junior win would count. So Hazelnut was scratched out of the other rings and a lovely dry yearling won the second ring. How nice.
Then came the third ring, and, what do you know, Coraline won the grand.
So that is how good manners works.
If you have bad manners, you only hurt yourself. Once you have won, it is best to leave the ring and sit smiling at ringside, filling the air with gracious humble dignity. Do not continue thrashing your opponent. Thank you.
Congratulations to Hazelnut. Congratulations to Coraline.
Congratulations to Blue.
For example the Crackpot Oregonian was sharing a stall with Blue and she was bullying Blue mercilessly, as I already reported. Blue is the type to take things lying down. Or to get up and move. She is a peace-love-and-understanding goat. Not my style, but whatever.
Anyway Abby had trumped Blue and she would not accept victory gracefully. Instead she continued to bully Blue when Blue was already fully bullied. This is not good manners. She should watch how Wronny does it. Wronny has no problem with anybody who obeys her. She does not waste time and energy t-boning the obsequious.
But Abby was drunk with power and she kept on. She went to the limit. And then she went over the limit.
Blue has a long fuse. But it isn't an endless fuse. And yesterday when the farmer was at a goat show Jen was watching the farm and she called the farmer to report that she had had to separate Abby and Blue because Blue was thrashing Abby within an inch of her life.
Our farmer is weak-minded and gave a distracted response from ringside - "oh, I see, okay, that's too bad," - and made a mental note that Jen must have Blue and Abby mixed up even though Jen is not weak-minded like the farmer.
The farmer came home and discovered that in fact Blue had finally turned into the Incredible Hulk, and Abby had reaped the whirlwind, which could have been avoided if only she had had good manners. Well, what can you do, she was born in a barn.
Meanwhile, back at the goat show, a parade of beautiful Poppy Patch does took the Senior Nigerian show by storm, picking up one after another of the grands and reserves in the three different rings. The beautiful Mae West won one ring, Angel won another, Duchess won the third.
The farmer had come with the farmer from Minter Bay and four goats, all from the Cora Belle family, two daughters and two granddaughters. Wedding Belles was the only senior and she did very well, coming in second in two rings.
Then the junior show began and Cora Belle's daughter Hazelnut waltzed out into the first ring, where she was one of a very few junior kids who actually appeared to walk rather than sproing and scream and turn magically into an indignant living dust mop collecting shavings along the floor. She won the grand champion, and her niece - Cora Belle's granddaughter Coraline - was the reserve.
Now if a person didn't know any better or didn't have good manners, they would go ahead and put Hazelnut in the next ring to see if she could win again. But what would be the point of that, anyway, since only one junior win would count. So Hazelnut was scratched out of the other rings and a lovely dry yearling won the second ring. How nice.
Then came the third ring, and, what do you know, Coraline won the grand.
So that is how good manners works.
If you have bad manners, you only hurt yourself. Once you have won, it is best to leave the ring and sit smiling at ringside, filling the air with gracious humble dignity. Do not continue thrashing your opponent. Thank you.
Congratulations to Hazelnut. Congratulations to Coraline.
Congratulations to Blue.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
The Empire Strikes Back
Betty went ballistic and she has teetered back on top. If the rights can be sold to ESPN, the farmer is thinking of putting her in a stall with Abby for the day so that they can work it out once and for all. Wronny is in the back with the big milkers so the Crackpot Oregonian would not have her big hired goon to look out for her. (That is just an expression Wronny if you are reading this.)
Willen shed out the winter coat that was making him look like a woolly fat pony. Now he just looks like a fat pony. Or possibly a glossy palomino seal. All the horses have been mysteriously good, so the farmer is getting very suspicious.
Blue's two daughters were too pretty to keep and one has already gone to a new home. The public has been trying to buy Crumpet but so far the farmer has not cracked. Fritzi and Frodo, the brothers with another mother, are living a happy, carefree life now that they traded in their old earbiting dam (Winjay the Hun) for a kindly new cookie-baking dam (Saint Penrose.)
My mother and my daughter and I have been passing the days sunning ourselves. The paint continues to peel. The cabana continues to fall apart. Jinxy continues to get cuter. Moldy, the last of the Nigerians to kid, continues to grow bigger.
And the grass continues to grow.
Long Live the Grass, without the Grass there would be no Grass Babies.
Willen shed out the winter coat that was making him look like a woolly fat pony. Now he just looks like a fat pony. Or possibly a glossy palomino seal. All the horses have been mysteriously good, so the farmer is getting very suspicious.
Blue's two daughters were too pretty to keep and one has already gone to a new home. The public has been trying to buy Crumpet but so far the farmer has not cracked. Fritzi and Frodo, the brothers with another mother, are living a happy, carefree life now that they traded in their old earbiting dam (Winjay the Hun) for a kindly new cookie-baking dam (Saint Penrose.)
My mother and my daughter and I have been passing the days sunning ourselves. The paint continues to peel. The cabana continues to fall apart. Jinxy continues to get cuter. Moldy, the last of the Nigerians to kid, continues to grow bigger.
And the grass continues to grow.
Long Live the Grass, without the Grass there would be no Grass Babies.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)