Just Choose It

The plumber came over and with some underground magic, a blowtorch, lots of pipe and any number of fittings, he fixed the plumbing, if 'fixed' is a word that should ever even really be used around here. Fixed is probably too definite for farm living. Maybe 'repaired' would be better. Or "temporarily alleviated."

In any case, temporarily alleviated plumbing is much better than broken plumbing, I can attest to that, if only because it reduces farmer grumpification by about 86%.

The plumber is also a philosopher and at one point he was looking for a bushing he had just had in his hand and he couldn't find it and he spent several minutes looking and then he said, pointing into the forest of couplings and tees and elbows in a compartment of his plumbing truck, " ah, there it is, it was right in front of me all the time."

And he picked up the bushing and squinted through it at the sun and said, "like Happiness."

"I just had to choose it."

The horseshoer also came over and he trimmed Laddy's chipped-out feet and since he is also a philospher-botanist-shepherd among other things, he mused aloud about the introduction of Scotch Broom and Himalayan Blackberry to the West Coast, because they aren't native plants as everyone knows and he was alarmed about how the future might have turned out because those people in the Donner Party for example had enough problems on their hands and could never have made it to Marin to start their wineries if they had had to walk through thickets of blackberries on top of everything else.

Because as it turns out Himalayan blackberry was introduced to the United States as a cultivar in 1885 and we all know what happened then. So there is probably a parallel universe where it was introduced in 1776 and no people ever got to the West Coast because they couldn't walk through the blackberries, and in that universe the West Coast is probably entirely populated by Nubians who walked up from Mexico one day when they got lost looking for their home barn, which was probably about 100 feet behind them, but once they got started walking they just kept going in a typical Nubian fashion, and a thousand miles later they came to Northern California and settled down and in that universe Big Sur is called "Nubiana" and Carmel-by-the-Sea is called "New Nubiana" and Portland is called "North Nubiana" and Seattle is called "North New Nubiana." And so on.

Wow. I don't even know if that is scary or beautiful.

Miracle Baby Takes a Nap

Miracle Baby Goat takes a nap with her brother, demonstrating the Big Orange family's highly refined relaxation skills.

Day One

Sometimes you can start over just like it was your first day.

That is what is nice about farm living.

It was a long hard winter here as it probably was lots of other places, and it seemed to go on forever with the usual litany of tedious complaints. And it was a bad year for baby goats, and even when things started looking up - like when the pipes were finally almost fixed and Cora Belle won her championship - even then the farmer walked around with a gloomy look and a long face and an expression that said, well, if things are going right today, that probably just means there will be a tornado tomorrow.

And today when Big Orange went into the kidding stall the farmer just didn't like the way she looked. She had a barely perceptible tremor along her neck, and that almost always means milk fever, and she was moving a little too slowly and her eyes were starting to go glassy.

But she took a little calcium, and even though the first kid was a big buckling, he was nose-and-toes, so that wasn't really a problem. The farmer was just getting him dry when all of a sudden there was a lady's voice coming over the stall door, and sure enough the farmer had forgotten that visitors were coming by.

"I'm right here," the farmer called, and the lady looked in over the stall, and so did her kids, a boy and a girl, and just then Big Orange laid down to push again. Right away this didn't look good: one rear hoof, coming upside down.

The farmer ditched the usual pleasantries and ran past the visitors to grab some gloves, and straight back to the stall, because this one was certainly going to need to be rearranged and pulled out quickly.

But before the farmer got back the baby was out, who even knows how.

And before the farmer even got to the stall the visitor lady was saying, "oh dear,"

The farmer took one look at the baby goat and turned to the kids and said, "you know, it's very sad, but the baby goats sometimes are too little to be born, or they aren't in the right position, or something happens as they are growing," as a preamble to telling them that this baby goat, which was twisted and motionless and an awful stillborn putty color, just wasn't going to make it.

That is one of the problems you can have when you think you know what you are doing. You don't always pay attention to the finer details.

Whereas, when you have no idea what you are doing, you see everything, as the little girl did.

"The baby goat is moving," she said politely.

The farmer looked down and sure enough, there was a leg kicking. And the baby bobbed its head. And so, without much hope, the farmer got busy, and cleaned it, and cleared its mouth, and rubbed it warm, and swung it upside down to get the goop out, and finally gave it a puff of air in the mouth to get it started breathing since it didn't seem to want to do that, and lo and behold, within a few minutes the baby goat was breathing on its own, and once that happened the pink came flooding back into it.

"She's a fighter," the farmer said. It was a beautiful little doe kid, Big Orange's first doe kid to have perfect gopher ears.

There was no need to take the little girl and make her a bottle baby. She gobbled milk greedily from Big Orange as soon as she shook off her traveling funk.

Why wouldn't she. It was her first day, and she wanted to get off to a good start.

It's Been No Bed of Roses, No Pleasure Cruise

CHAPTER ONE

We got five more dollars in pledges for the Tangy fund drive. We already had one dollar, so that makes six. I know six dollars is a lot of money, but still it seems like we have a long way to go. Maybe Oprah or someone will chip in. If you know Oprah, ask her to chip in, we could do a show about it. Oh well. Maybe it's hopeless.

Speaking of hopeless, there was a big goat show yesterday. The farmer had a headache and didn't want to go. A couple of weeks earlier the farmer had clipped Blue Umbrella for the show because she was looking good. As soon as the farmer finished clipping her, Blue stopped making milk, turning her udder into a little shrunken handbag.

"Great," said the farmer, and looked around the barnyard. Boxcar Betty was looking good; her spots were flashing in the sun.

"Betty, come here," said the farmer. Betty ran like a scalded cat as fast as she could, squeaking neatly through the gate into the front pasture. Nice try, Betty, but two farm boys came over later that day and they apprehended and frogmarched Betty back to the barn where the farmer started clipping her.

The farmer had Betty about half clipped when the clippers broke. "Great," said the farmer. The new $150 clippers - not the ones from the tack sale that cost $15. The ones with all the blades that had just been sharpened.

The farmer regarded Betty dubiously: she looked a lot like Carol Brady on the Brady Bunch, with a shag haircut that would send shivers down the spine of anyone who lived through the seventies.

"Great," said the farmer. Oh well, maybe the farmer from Minter Bay wouldn't want to go after all. The farmer from Minter Bay had been naysaying and shillyshallying about any further goat shows that summer.

Just then a terse commanding email completely lacking in pleasantries popped in the inbox: "Meet me at my farm at 6 tomorrow. Showing at 9."

"Great," said the farmer. The farmer's head started pounding. Up at 4:30 to milk and shower, then over to Minter Bay to stuff Cora Belle into the car, then off on a two and half hour drive to Stanwood.

"That's just great," said the farmer gloomily, wondering if any stores would be open to buy Aleve and knowing full well there is no Starbucks near the Fairgrounds in Stanwood and generally feeling very grumpy.

CHAPTER TWO

Cora Belle triumphed and won Reserve Champion in one ring and Grand Champion in the two others against beautiful steep Northwest competition and a mood of incredible jollity and gracious kindness and humility descended, broken only by the unseemly bellowing of the song "We are the Champions" in the car on the way home.

Schooling the Tangerine Whale

The good news is we have already raised $1 for our Tangy Pledge Drive. It only took two days. So at this rate in 3074 more days she will be on her way to her new Kiwi home. That is only eight years and a few months! Vaya con Dios, Tangy!

The bad news is that yesterday some children came over and one of them was quite small and she wanted to ride a goat. When I heard her say, "I want to ride a goat," I discreetly galloped at top speed to the far corner of the pasture, right behind Hannah Belle who was making extremely good time for a goat who is eight months pregnant.

Everyone else with normal intelligence followed us, leaving only the Nubian crosses and Eo up at the barn in catching range. Eo was plotting a government overthrow as usual and not paying attention to the conversation.

The farmer was dubious since none of us had ever been ridden. "I don't know about that," the farmer said, eyeballing the Nubian crosses. "It would have to be a big goat."

We don't have any big wethers since there is a strict rule against them, and they would be the natural choice for goat riding activities. Big Orange and Xie Xie are pregnant, so that got them off the hook. Pinky Jr. is too skinny because she is growing so fast and Pinky is a milker and she will also be the new Sheriff of Crazytown if Maddie ever resigns. She is Crazy with a capital T.

And that left only one goat: the tangerine whale.

"See if Tangy will come out," the farmer told the children.

Tangy lumbered out.

"Okay let's see if we can get the horse halter on her," the farmer said, pretending not to be surprised.

Tangy stood patiently while an upside-down horse halter was put on her for a harness.

"Okay let's put you on her," the farmer said to the little girl. On she went.

"Hold on tight," the farmer told the little girl, and she grabbed the halter. The farmer snapped a lead rope on Tangy.

"Okay let's see if she will walk." Tangy walked off without batting an eye.

"I want to ride her alone," the little girl said. "By myself."

The farmer took the lead rope off.

Tangy and passenger walked off alone. There was no sunset at that time of day or they would have walked into it.

"Hmm," said the farmer. "Who knew."

I wonder if this means Tangy is still going to New Zealand in 2019. I kind of don't think so.

Send Tangy to Kumara Junction

We did not have much luck raising money to send Tangy to Spindale. We raised zero dollars. But that's ok because it looks like there is a better opportunity.

The farmer just read about a lady in New Zealand who has made a special home for a special goat.

Obviously this lady must be extremely patient, so this would be a perfect home for Tangy. And it is even farther away than Spindale.

Unfortunately the ticket to New Zealand is a bit more ($1538) so please give generously. But Tangy would be right in Tasmania so she might meet a nice Devil, and also she would not be here eating all our food. Thank you.

Be Kind to Your Web-Footed Friends

If you don't care about conformation that probably means you have bad conformation.

And you probably spell it wrong too. "Oh who gives a hoot about CONFIRMATION," that's what you probably say when the subject comes up.

Conformation means do you look good, with all your arrows pointing in the right direction, and do you walk along smooothly like an ice skater on a frozen canal in Amsterdam. Or do you look like a washing machine full of dirty gym socks tumbling down a mountainside when you come running toward the feeder.

Anyway I am in the Baby Belle family so I have excellent conformation except for my chandelier udder which is the only thing saving me from a lifetime of goat shows. Thank God for my chandelier or I would probably have to buy a tour bus to appear at all 50 state fairs.

However certain parties around here have developed a pronounced washing machine style of locomotion and there is two of them and their name is the Moldy Family. That means Moldy and her daughter Abby.

They are fine and all and I have gotten used to them and nobody even bothers giving them a thrashing any more and in fact you hardly notice them until you see them walking and then it becomes apparent that they toe out in the back like a pair of penguins. My goodness it is really something.

For a long time I couldn't figure it out, then I remembered they are from Oregon, and that must be where their duckfoot comes from. Because Oregon is ruled by Ducks.

But anyway I have taken a vow of kindliness and I never even mention anything about it. What would be the point. They must know what they look like by now.

And even a duck may be somebody's mother.

Terrifying Intruder, Part One

Hello. Today there was a terrifying intruder.

When faced with a terrifying intruder, it is important to pay attention. It is almost impossible to be properly terrified if you are dozing off.

Steps which will aid in focusing the attention:

1. Everyone must face the terrifying intruder, even Pinky.

2. Actually, this is really Step One, but we usually do it second. So we call it Step Two. Step Two: Stop eating. Even Pinky.

3. Try to identify someone nearby who is smarter than you (difficult in my case, but Pinky can just look anywhere, even at a pigeon) and see what they are doing. Do whatever they are doing.

4. Is Hannah Belle anywhere nearby? If so, the intruder isn't really that terrifying. If Hannah Belle has vanished, run for the barn.

Thank you. I hope this has been of some help to those of you who are unsure whether or not to be terrified.

Dreamytown

The farmer went away for a week and when the farmer came back my daughter Pretty Baby had gotten EVEN CUTER. Hard to believe but true.

In less interesting news, Jimmy had had a little buckling, he is also a single like Cherry's daughter Maraschino, and he also has milk stupefaction. He is a mini-mancha with blue eyes and wattles. He can hardly keep his eyes open.

He is always waking up and discovering that the whole herd has gone somewhere else and he is all alone and then he starts crying sleepily and then Jimmy appears with a big bag of milk and tops him off and then back to Dreamytown, see you later, you're getting very sleepy, don't try to talk.

We are thinking of calling him James Dream because all of Jimmy's sons are named Jimmy.

Well, she only had one, but his name was Jimmy Jr.

Hazel

Sometimes one day is a lifetime.

We lost our little nut. So now we can call her Hazel.

5/13/2011 - 5/14/2011.

Nameless New Nut

We have seen some tiny little peanuts in our day. Including Mr. Peanut himself, now the largest 4-legged peanut in the world. But usually they are Nigerians.

In a move that took everyone by surprise, Wronny had a rare LaMancha peanut doeling last night. This is a tiny one. We are all holding our breath.

"She doesn't look that good," the farmer said gently to Wronny. Wronny ignored that comment, and got busy cleaning the peanut and getting it started and giving the farmer occasional icy looks, as if to say, "why are you still standing here when you could be going to get the vanilla wafers?"

I thought the peanut should be named Hazel. But the farmer said no, no names. Not right now. It would be a jinx.

The peanut has one thing going for her, though. She is mad as a hornet.

And about the same size.

Lucy

Lucy just had two little chocolate Toggamanchas. They seem to lack personality but I will give them a couple of days. Anyway, I am pleased. Lucy will have plenty of milk for the Milk Drive if Cherry gets tired or Pinky.

You Can't Get Good Help

Did you notice how nobody ever bothers to bring these two a glass of water? The exact same thing happens to me whenever I go out to eat.

We Three Blue-Eyed Crybabies

Talk about a royal pain, these three never stop whinging. The Duke, the Duchess, and Grand Empress Betty.

Send Tangy to Spindale

Won't you please help. We are raising money to send Tangy to the Spindale Goat Festival and Parade this month. As you probably know, Spindale is the home of the American Dairy Goat Association, and last year they started having a festival and parade and I guess it was a big success with dancing in the street and little girl bands and goats dressed as honeybees and so they are having it again. And we would really like Tangy to go so she can demonstrate her swordfish walk. Spindale is in North Carolina, and we think once she gets there, she won't be able to get back, so we would really like her to go. I don't know if I mentioned that. She won't fit in a crate (no, not even a Great Dane crate) to go on the airline so we will need to buy a bus ticket. One way. Thanks for any contribution you can make.

Pretty Baby!

Jumps for Joy!

Fleet Foxes

Speaks for itself....right?

Goat of the Month

Cherry is our Goat of the Month. Congratulations to Cherry.

Cherry (aka Tellicherry) is Pinky Jr.'s (aka Pinkberry) twin.

They are both Big Orange daughters.

Cherry is just as sweet as Big Orange but not as crazy, only medium crazy. She is the type who can be released on her own recognizance. That is if you can catch her in the first place. She is a fast runner and good at sharp turns. She looks like a big sleek glossy black deer with mostly chewed-off ears.

Cherry has been donating to the Milk Drive every day. All of the milk collected goes to my three kids and the farmer's coffee and cheese fund and the save-Wendell-from-unsightly-weight-loss campaign and the goat milk soap factory in the cottage and the please-support-elderly-border-collies Foundation.

And there is still plenty enough left over to stupefy Maraschino. We have never known Maraschino to stay awake for longer than five minutes, this is because of milk stupefaction. She is constantly nodding off.

Try stupefying someone with milk you bought at the grocery store and see what happens. Nothing.

Anyway Cherry is our Goat of the Month. Congratulations to Cherry.

Many Happy Returns of the Day

It certainly has been a red letter day for Royals everywhere.

After watching the nuptials of Prince Wills and Catherine Middleton, the farmer turned us out for the day in the front pasture. Betty promptly turned around and ran back to the gate, kicking it wholeheartedly so as to rattle the chain and get the farmer's attention.

"What's wrong, Betty?" said the farmer. "Don't you want to stay out? It's a beautiful day."

Betty just huffed impatiently until the farmer opened the gate and then she rushed back into the barn to her stall where she laid down and had two babies, a boy and a girl.

As you probably know my family is famous the world over for its unwarranted modesty so you will certainly believe me when I say that these are two of the most beautiful goats ever born and since it is within my power as the ruling monarch of the Baby Belle Royal Family I have bestowed upon them titles to mark their extraordinariness and they will henceforward be known as the Duke and Duchess of Lakebay.

And the barn bells will toll for thirty minutes at the stroke of 12:30 p.m. from this day forward on their birthday if we can find the barn bells or maybe we don't have any but if we don't Wendell will bark for a minute instead.

And thus it is decreed. Go forth and eat blackberries.

Maraschino

Maraschino gazes in admiration at her mother Cherry.

Cherry is a living monument to milk.