The farmer went out of town and it poured. There was a lightning storm and the power went out. The tractor stopped running and the Terror had a potty training relapse, the worst kind of relapse there is. Laddy got stuck in the neighbor's chicken coop, he walked in there to steal some alfalfa that belongs to their goats and when he got in it was too narrow to turn around - it was one horse long but only about a half a horse wide, and when he tried to back out he kept banging his big butt against the wall so he stood there stamping and crying like a Nubian horse and he had to be extracted manually and just in the nick of time because it was plain to see that he had started thinking Kung Fu thoughts - "I could kick this whole place down," - if thinking isn't too strong a word for the type of cerebral activity he is known for.
Anyway it was a long week and no one really enjoyed it except the farmer because the farmer was in Virginia where it was bright and sunny all day long every day, with the temperature around 80, and no chores to do except eat cake and lasagna. "I think I will have a little more," the farmer kept saying. The farmer came home fatter than ever, looking like a dry yearling who lives at a feedstore where the grain is free choice and the alfalfa buffet never closes.
It was decided the farmer would go on a spinach diet since the unharvested spinach was running amok in the garden after all that rain.
But just then the mail arrived and lo and behold! Two more big bags of black licorice! On the label the licorice was clearly addressed to me, it said "Millie Beautifulgoat," but the bags did not get delivered to me, instead they were shared among the masses, which is not legal when a bag is addressed to a specific goat. In fact I believe that kind of mail-tampering is a felony but no one listened to me, what a surprise.
The feast was back on, even Kung Fu Laddy got some. Sandy, the farmer's new pet, the goat formerly known as the Screamer, feasted three times a day on my licorice as she was milked on the stand to get her production up for the Fair.
"Why can't some of you be more like Sandy," the farmer said pointedly, looking at Clover and Clara Belle, not to mention Betty. Their production has gone to hell in a handbasket since the farmer went out of town. "You are going to look pretty ridiculous at the Fair with your little thimbles of milk."
Sandy simpered infuriatingly from the milkstand, she is just like her grandmother Moldy. She is as bad as Crumpet only worse. She puts Pebbles to shame. She gobbled five pieces of licorice in a row.
"I could kick this whole place down," said Eo bitterly, watching the black whips disappear.