The S hocking Truth

Our farmer has been buying all kinds of fence chargers and they don't work like the old Sears fence charger that was built in 1974 and zapped like a charm until it finally gave out last spring. They don't make the parts for it any more so it went to the scrap heap. Since then there has been a Gallagher (PowerPlus! Good for 60 acres!) that wouldn't shock a flea, a Farmtek that would make you say "I think I feel something! There! That's it, isn't it?" And a Saaco that had enough juice to light the flashing light indicating that it was working correctly but not enough power to actually produce any shock at all of any kind.

Every time the farmer would go back to a different farm store and the farm clerk would explain why the fence charger didn't work, it was all because the farmer hadn't hooked it up right and all the voltage and amperage was flowing counterclockwise down the drain as if it were in the Southern Hemisphere where they have Christmas in July which would mean that it needed a better ground, with a minimum of 75 30-foot-long copper poles from NASA to work correctly.

"Oh really," the farmer would say. "Well how come the old one worked for 35 years with no problem?"

"Well," the farm clerk would say, and make a little French touche gesture, "they don't make them like they used to."

After the last episode the farmer said, "that's it," in complete disgust and now we have a charger that is rated to completely encircle Rhode Island three times. It is enough to hold Laddy and will probably hold Tommy. Willen will stay if the other two aren't going anywhere. Anyway, if you find an old Sears fence charger at a yard sale anywhere, please email us immediately.

In other farm news something far more shocking has happened to Big Orange. Big Orange used to be a high-kicking bucket-launcher. She was the bane of the milkroom. She was considered the Mayor of Crazy Town until the farmer started working in the city and the neighbor farmer started coming over to milk Big Orange. Somehow the neighbor turned Big Orange into an almost normal milker. So Crazy Town will need a new Mayor.

Luckily there are several deputy mayors waiting in the wings to take office.

Big Orange's granddaughter Pinky has been started in the milkroom even though she is not a milker just to keep her off the ballot.

In this photo she stuffs her face while Jimmy Jr., Jimmy's wether son, wanders mistakenly into the milkroom. No wethers allowed, Jimmy. Beat it.

The Cruel Twist

They had the Harvest Festival Farm Tour last weekend. This is where people go around our Peninsula looking at pumpkins and chickens. They track mud everywhere and park in the ditches.

The farmer came out to see if anyone might like to go and represent the goat kingdom at the neighbor's farm, which was on the tour. There was a big stampede out the back of the barn, led by everyone. Not even Tangy wanted to represent the goat kingdom.

"That is ok," said the farmer bitterly. "We don't need any of you. We have two nice goats from Minter Bay going."

And the farmer went off to help the farmer from Minter Bay who was bringing the two goats who had volunteered to represent the goat kingdom to the public. Only as usual the farmer forgot almost everything except one folding chair, so the farmer from Minter Bay who had gone to all the trouble of bringing the two "volunteer" goats also had to sit on a tiny postage-stamp sized chair that looked like something a hummingbird might perch on. That was while our farmer lounged on a full-sized comfy chair, not even looking apologetic.

Anyway the two volunteers were Filbert, Hannah Belle's son who has become a goat celebrity from last year's Harvest Fest where he got his picture on the front page of the paper. And George, aka Curious George, one of Alice's mini-mancha triplets from this summer. George is a baby and he put on a show of shivering and whimpering while Filbert chewed his cud in a blase fashion.

Filbert is known as a professional goat.

Anyway the public started coming and it turned out in a cruel twist of fate that Filbert once again was the Candy Goat. This means he was wearing a little pack and the pack was filled with candy. Good candy, like tiny Milky Way bars. Not sourballs wrapped in plastic and petrified candy corn.

So this made Filbert extremely popular. "Why don't you take a look and see what he has in his pack," the farmer from Minter Bay would say to the children, and they would look in the pack and give a little gasp of delight.

The people who owned the farm were selling animal treats for a quarter. So all the children had little sacks filled with peanuts and cracked corn and carrot slices. And they would all give Filbert something in exchange for their Milky Ways, so he had an excellent racket going, and spent most of the day licking his lips. That part was not the cruel twist.

The cruel twist was George, shivering and whimpering. He was the Trash Goat.

"Now don't forget," the farmer from Minter Bay would say. "When you finish your candy, put the wrapper in George's pack. He is the trash goat."

That is why I don't volunteer for any of these expeditions. Because even though I know someone gets to be the Candy Goat, I know there will also be somebody who gets to be the Trash Goat. And that is all the incentive I need to stay home.

LaMancha or Bedbug?

This is a picture of Maddy. She looks fairly normal but unfortunately she is crazy.

Hmm

Hello my name is Izzy. Million Belles is my mother. My brother's name is Ringo. I am two months old but hardly any attention has been paid to me since I was born which is odd because I am exceptional.

Anyway it's funny how people look at things and don't really see them because they have a fixed idea in their head and they can't change it just because it doesn't match reality.

The reason I mention it is all summer long people have been coming to look at the baby goats and the farmer always points to Terra, Hannah Belle's daughter, and says, "That's the pretty one." Or sometimes if Terra is having a bad hair day or an ungainly growth spurt the farmer points to Betty's daughter Iota and says, "That's the pretty one."

This went on all summer without fail, and sometimes the farmer wouldn't even remember my name but would say, "oh yes, there is another doe kid, that little black and white one there."

Anyway a couple of weeks ago was the state fair and for the first time in a long time the farmer did not take any goats. But on the day of the Nigerian show the farmer stopped by to watch. There were other farmers there too, and Gracie's and Zinnia's family was there from up the road, and the farmer from Minter Bay where my father the drive-through buck lives. And then there were also various goat big shots, and people who think they are big shots, and a lot of opinions were exchanged on which goats were the best goats.

But when everything was said and done and the Junior Champion was decided it was a goat named Not Quite An Angel. She is my father's full littermate sister.

Then there was a lot more parading and the senior champion was decided and it was a goat named Hardly An Angel. That's my father's mother. Then there was additional four-footed mincing and posing much to the chagrin of all the goats and the Champion Challenge was conducted and my father's mother won that too, beating Jackpot's mother and a goat named Rockette who had caused some of the spectator's eyes to goggle out of their heads. So my father's mother was Grand Champion and Best of Breed and Best Udder which is about all you can win unless you hit the bullseye in the shooting gallery, and then you can also get a life-sized stuffed bear.

Anyway when the farmer came home the farmer had a funny look and came right into the stall where I was jumbled up with a lot of other goats getting out of the rain, which has just started, and picked me up and held me up in the light and examined me closely and then said, "hmm," and put me down.

And every day since then the farmer has been coming back out and picking me up and petting me and saying, "Hmm," in a surprised way.

Anyway the way things were going I thought maybe my name got changed to "Hmm," but then a lady stopped by and asked which one was the pretty one and right away the farmer pointed to me and said, "Isabelle," oddly enough remembering my name right away.

"Oh is she for sale?"

"No," said the farmer. "Not any more."

Part Two

Ok, part two.

The grain hum went through the herd, and Hannah Belle set off up the hill. She took everyone down into the far corner of the front pasture where nobody ever goes, and she showed everyone a hidden hole under the fence next to the driveway.

All the little goats got through, and some of the mediums, and several of the bigs including Tugboat Tangy surprisingly, but Winnie couldn't make it so she stood on the other side bellowing until she reached the end of her attention span.

We hightailed up the driveway lest any helpful passersby see us and report us and pretty soon we were up by the cottage with Tangy breathing through her mouth from the exertion but occasionally still chanting "grain" as we all came up on the shed where the grape leaves grow through the fence.

It didn't take long to make them disappear.


Then Hannah Belle ordered everyone into the barn, where the grain was piled in 50 lb sacks. Everyone stared in amazement.

"Get to work!" yelled Hannah Belle, "We've got free rein!"

We knocked a bag from the top of the stack and then we all started pawing and chewing through the bag. Time is of the essence when you are bag-chewing. Since there wasn't room for everybody to chew the bag, a few of us waiting for the bag to be gnawed open went and knocked over every single thing in the barn that wasn't bolted down.


We made it through. We ate 48 pounds of cob before the neighbor farmer came to milk the milkers and caught us all red-handed.

All except one.

Hannah Belle somehow had managed to get back into the pasture.

She gazed in innocently as we were all stuffed into a holding cell to see when and if we would get sick.

"My goodness, what's going on?" her expression said. "Can I help with anything?"

"I hope you all enjoyed that grain," the farmer said later after hearing the report of what had happened. "because you won't be getting any more for a long time."

Free Rein

Well yesterday was Wednesday here, I don't know what it was where you are.

It was a bit glum and rainy and our farmer has not been paying much attention to us. This gives us free rein.

Some of us need attention because our opinions have not been taken into account lately what with the farmer driving up to the fancy job in Seattle almost every day and not minding the farm properly.

Last weekend there was goat show practice because Moldy and her daughter were supposed to go to the fair and Moldy did reasonably well considering the size of her brain but after the practice it was determined that Moldy really does not have enough milk to show well so all that practice was a waste and the time could have been better spent listening to some of the good ideas I have had lately which are many and numerous.

So anyway there was a rising tide. Of something.

Last weekend when we had free rein Hannah Belle showed us how to knock the plywood out of the gate panel so that we could go wherever we want. We trotted around freely in the horse pasture eating apples. The farmer said a few choice words and looked for the hammer briefly but then got distracted.

"Don't you worry, I am going to find that hammer and put the panel back in," the farmer said darkly. "maybe a little bit later. Or tomorrow."

We knew that wouldn't happen because after finding the hammer the farmer would have to find some nails, and even though lightning often strikes twice around here it's almost always in the spring. So we continued to do as we pleased. And you know how it goes, when you get in the habit of doing as you please, it only leads to more of the same.

Anyway yesterday when the farmer left for work we all poured out through the missing gate panel and helped ourselves to apples but before too long Hannah Belle said, "you know these apples are fine, I used to really like them, but there is grain in the barn."

Pinky Jr, is only able to comprehend a word or two here and there but she repeated: "Grain."

"Grain in the barn," Tangy intoned dully.

A low hum spread the herd: "Grain."

.........to be continued

The Rain......

.....Returned.

The Triumph of Moldy

Moldy has experienced a recent triumph and she won't stop talking about it.

One of her daughters won the reserve junior champion at the Kitsap County Fair.

The people who call it reserve champion are usually the people who win it. The other people call it SECOND PLACE.

Anyway Moldy has been fawning around with mock humility, telling everyone fifteen times about what happened as if the Kitsap County Fair is one step away from the Nobel Prize. Everyone flees when they see her coming.

All day long she has been trotting around on her little dachshund legs yelling "Guess what!" as the audience stampedes across the pasture to get away from her.

Thank goodness it has been decided that I will never have to go to a show unless there is a show for goats with good personality which in that case very few of the goats here would be eligible.

If you would like to see some of our goats at the Puyallup Fair Moldy will be there since it is not a personality fair. Tangy the bear of little brain has been there twice if that gives you an idea how little value they place on personality there. Also Ayatollah Winnie and Wronny Soprano.

Bad News, Good News

It is time for some goat news from around the world. And since the world includes Germany, we are including a link to this outrageous story about a goat who was kicked out of his new apartment by a German couple! How uncivilized! Just as he was settling in!

Ok, this story from Dallas ends a little better: a goat and his Great Dane friend, as well as their 3-legged retriever sidekick, get the treatment they deserve after a long and arduous struggle.

They Just Know

Usually when we hear the coyotes singing they just sing to each other, each to each, and they don't bother troubling us with their conversation.

But last night I was lying in my stall and I thought I heard one of the coyotes say, "Millie, why don't you come outside? Come outside, Millie, I want to show you something."

I thought it was just me or maybe I imagined it so I didn't say anything but when I got up in the morning Betsy and all the bigs were standing in a large clump instead of sprawling every which way like they usually do. Blue Umbrella and Betty had attached themselves to the clump. And so had Eo and the rest of the minis. So there was a big crowd of everybody standing inside an invisible fence that was built for about half as many goats as were in there.

"What is going on?" I asked Eo. As usual she said, "Why?" very pointedly, and went back to plotting to overthrow the government.

So I asked Pinky Jr.

"Nothing," said Pinky Jr. "We are all just standing together."

"Oh," I said.

"Because Atticus isn't here."

"Oh," I said. I did a little doublecheck to make sure Izzy and Ringo were right by me.

Just then the coyotes started singing. And sure enough, one of them called my name. In the broad daylight. Oh dear, I thought. I scooched all three of us inside the invisible fence.

"How do they know?" I asked Pinky Jr.

"Know what?" said Pinky, Jr., because she has a short attention span.

"Know Atticus isn't here."

Pinky Jr. shrugged. "They just know."

Good Night, Sweet Prince

There isn't enough room here or anywhere else for a complete list of noble deeds performed by Atticus. So this is only the tip of the iceberg, beginning with goats whose lives were saved:

Betsy (gazing fondly in a part-Nubian manner at large coyote until Atty appeared)
Hannah Belle (2x - once hanging upside down from fence, once stuck in gate requiring Jaws of Life. Atty called for assistance and remained with victim until aid arrived)
Marv (rolled under the deck when he accidentally got born outside in 20 degree weather. Atty would not stop barking)
Buttons and Cappy (born in the down-below shed, Atty would not let anyone in the door)
John and George (born in the pasture when no one was home. Atty escorted them throughout the day)
Mel (Atty lay by her for who knows how long while she was stuck in fence through her own stupidity)
Pinetop (foot trapped between deck boards, could not extricate self, Atty called for assistance)
Strange man came to farm, possibly selling firewood, and started yelling at the farmer for no apparent reason. Atty appeared from nowhere and grabbed the man's shirtsleeve in an encouraging manner, while gazing at the man intently and making a low rumbling noise like an earthquake in the distance. The man was encouraged to stop yelling and get in his car and drive away immediately.
Intervened on behalf of his elderly friend Rocky the Raccoon.
Lay outside Snow Pea's stall for 6 hours when she was crying because she had to stay inside alone.
Allowed baby goats to use him as a trampoline.
Did not kill Wendell, again and again. Repeatedly did not kill Wendell.

Too much more to list. Too many things.

We hope he is on a mountaintop covered with snow somewhere, where it never gets too hot, and the baby goats have nice soft hooves, and the dinner is served on time, and there is a little cave he can lie in, and look out over his domain.

A Terrible Quiet

Just when the wings of time got started again, there is nothing we can do but stop them.

Atticus had a sore paw and it seemed to go away and then a couple of days ago it got much worse, and he could hardly walk. He was huffing in pain whenever he limped anywhere. Today he went to the vet. The farmer was awfully worried he might have a nail in his paw but there didn't seem to be any way it could have gotten in.

But the farmer kept thinking: what if he has a nail in his paw? What then? He will have to wear a special boot. Maybe the saddlemaker over by the county line can make a special custom boot for him.

They took the x-rays and he didn't have a nail in his paw. He had bone cancer. And he was too big for them to do anything. A Pyrenees cannot walk on three legs. Especially not one as magnificent as Atticus.

And so today on a beautiful summer afternoon, Atticus went out of this world.

And the farmer came home alone from the vet.

And now all over the farm there is a terrible quiet.

I had no idea it could ever be so quiet.

The Gossamer Wings Etc

First of all I am very annoyed. Our farmer got a job in the city and would not write the blog for me. Everything passed unremarked as if it never happened. The kids, the hay, the unfortunate incident with the tractor, the thing that happened where Atty injured his paw, Wendell's shocking incontinence. Nothing entered into eternity on the gossamer wings of my blog.

THIS GOAT'S LIFE stood still.

The lettuce bolted to the size of a Christmas tree and nobody picked it. The farmer only wanted to sleep when not driving back and forth to Seattle to work at the stupid job which has nothing to do with Nigerian Dwarf dairy goats. This was very selfish.

My children Ringo and Izzy did not get fully documented as they should have been. This was not correct. That little brown one whatever his name is, Jimson Weed I think, hardly got documented at all but that's fine, who cares, he is just a little brown goat. Also Cherry's crazy little bunny rabbit daughter did not even get a name yet. That's how bad it was. When she gets a name it will probably be something like "Cherrybunny" or "Bunnybing" which is just sad.

The neighbor lady had to come and milk the milkers. Actually the neighbor lady did a much better job than our farmer but nobody mentioned that. Big Orange even got used to the neighbor lady.

The horses got tremendously fat from eating constantly and never getting any exercise. The neighbors from Longbranch had to come and put all the hay in the barn. Four hundred bales. That was completely unheard of. The idea of someone else putting your hay in the barn. It's shocking. They don't even have neighbors like that in the city. They only exist in the country.

Well anyway now there is going to be a big party. For the end of summer. There will be fiddlers. Or at least one fiddler. Unless the fiddler cancels.

But anyway. Time will start flapping its gossamer wings again.

Soon.

Ringo

This is a picture of my son Ringo. He is a good son but I prefer Izzy, and I was also feeling kind of drained, so I suggested for Ringo to go and drink some milk from Cherry or Jimmy. Jimmy had a little son on Saturday I think. I wasn't really paying attention because it was kind of boring. Jimmy is brown and her son is brown so it was really too much brown to concentrate on.

Jimmy is not part Nubian, though, so that didn't really work out because she was able to discern that Ringo wasn't her son, even though he is much better looking than her actual son, no offense that is just a fact, so he didn't get any Jimmy milk. Cherry is part Nubian, though, so he gets plenty of milk from her. Cherry's little daughter doesn't need much milk anyway because she looks like a bunny rabbit. And the rabbit is not a dairy animal.

Isabelle Ringing

This is my two children. Isabelle and Ringing. Ringing is called Ringo. Isabelle is called Izzy. Woops, this is only Izzy. Ringo will come later. He looks the same, but very different.

Pull Knob to Release

Well the farmer had to go to work on Saturday so the farmer asked Lori to keep an eye on me "Because she is coming near her time."

Who isn't coming near their time? How can you get anywhere without coming near your time? In fact, shouldn't you be right on your time?

Anyway Lori was keeping an eye on me and she must have taken her thinking cap off and left it somewhere because after several hours she called the farmer to report that Xie Xie looked a little under the weather, and that one of her babies was too small, in Lori's opinion. "She looks like a newborn," Lori said accusingly.

What am I supposed to do about that? thought the farmer. The farmer was on the freeway and there is a new cellphone law regarding talking on the phone so the farmer just said, ok thank you.

I don't know where the farmer's thinking cap was either because Xie Xie doesn't have any babies this year, she is milking through, so how could one of them be too small and look like a newborn?

It's a puzzle, make no mistake.

Anyway after several hours the farmer came home and was able to uncover the fact that Xie Xie's mysterious daughter was not too small. In fact she was just the right size, because she was a newborn. Only nobody seemed to want to claim her, certainly not Xie Xie who has taken a vow of chastity since popping out Alica and Walker last year.

Big Orange was interested in the baby, but it is a known fact that Big Orange already had her babies. Brandy is an old bag. Breezy is a crippled old bag. Winnie is all that and a bag of chips. Penrose would have taken it, she is a professional maiden aunt. But you could see it wasn't hers.

And little Jimmy was still holding her water.

Finally Cherry came forward and claimed the baby, offering no explanation or apology.

We knew Jimmy was going to have a wether-child. We did not know Cherry had climbed the same tree.

Anyway I was thinking how odd that whole thing was today when all of a sudden out of the blue I started screaming bloody murder. I screamed for two solid hours. I thought I had appendicitis. "Help me!" I screamed, and the farmer came and gave me a cup of grain.

"That is not the kind of help I need!" I screamed. But I ate it to be polite.

Suddenly a gigantic wet black and white baby appeared behind me, possibly having dropped from some unseen vending machine in the barn ceiling. Or down a baby chute.

For some reason I felt a lot better. I noticed how handsome the black and white baby was. It reminded me of my little friend at the drive-through buck window. I couldn't really think any more about it because suddenly I started screaming again.

"HELP ME!" I bawled. Another little baby appeared behind me. The first one was still crawling around ineptly. The farmer brought me a bucket of warm water, and some more grain.

How odd, I thought.

When did the farmer buy that vending machine. Why have I never noticed it before.

Fire in the Hole

I am still here. It is 4th of july, everyone's least favorite holiday of the year. We are all getting huddled in the barn in preparation for the horrifying night of country artillery. I am going to have my kids soon but not right yet. They are not going to be the last kids of the year. Joemma is going to have kids too. The father of her babies is one of the wethers. Their tale of forbidden love will be told later. The rocket's red glare is already starting all around us. So I will say adieu for now.

Song of Myself

A lot has happened in the last couple of weeks. Alice over at Minter Bay shot out a set of triplets. Alice is Binky's little sister, and she shares the much-coveted Betsy family stealth kidding gene. Unlike Peaches who likes to make the thing into a miniseries, the Betsy family can kid between commercials.

Anyway that is all very interesting if you have nothing better to talk about but nothing has been written about me in a very long time.

I am almost one year old. I am one of the prettiest and most charming goats in the world. I have an incredibly wonderful personality and an adorable black "Clouseau" mustache. I am good at being carried around and accepting admiration.

My favorite goat is my mother, Belle Pepper. I go everywhere with her. She is a very good mother even though she ran out of milk a couple of months ago which is unfortunate since Nigerian goat milk is very good. It's the nectar of the gods. I am keeping her for my mother anyway though instead of switching to Penrose.

I do not really like LaManchas except Xie Xie. Big Orange is fine though. Wronny doesn't bother me too much. I guess I could live with Binky if I had to. Ziggy isn't completely awful. Brandy is an old bag so I just avoid her and there is no way she could catch me if it came down to it. That little slow-witted pink one is all right too, I kind of like her.

Actually I guess it is just Winnie I don't like. She knows everything and the price too.

I do not really like minis that much either except technically Jammies and Bumblebee are minis and they are tolerable. I guess Eo is ok too, all she ever does is sit around plotting to overthrow the government. If you ask her what she is doing she says "why?" and makes a mental note of it on the docket of disgruntlement that she carries around in her head.

Eo Docket Entry, in re "Lawsuit Against the World": Millie asked me what I was doing again. Why?

I am getting ready for my birthday party and for my kids' birthday party. I am expecting a lot of presents. I would like a forest green satin jacket for the Fair, monogrammed with HH (Herron Hill) on one side, and MB (Million Belles) on the other, so no one else can wear it. If it doesn't have the MB there are certain parties (Moldy) who might try to take it and pretend it is their jacket. I would like a bag of ginger snaps. I would like some apple peels, a pumpkin scone with orange frosting, and 200 raisins. New ones, not old dried-out dust-covered ones from someone's pocket.

You can send me these things care of the farm, with a nice note. And maybe a Starbuck's gift card tucked inside.

Thank you for thinking of me. How kind you are.

Miracle Pt. Two

We only have one Toggenburg, Penrose, but she is a good one. Penrose is our spokesgoat. She is kindly and good-natured and she doesn't beat up small goats, especially not babies. In fact she loves babies.

But Penrose has always had problems getting settled, and even though she is six years old, she has only kidded twice. Nonetheless every year when the babies start getting born, Penrose examines them closely.

"I think that one might be mine," she decides now and then. And she will pick out a baby and follow it around, usually one that looks kind of like a Toggenburg. One with ears, I mean. Then after a while she changes her mind. "I guess not."

Well Rainy the hoodlum got stuck outside with no milk. So she looked around for milk, and everyone turned her down. You cannot get milk from a LaMancha, that's just hopeless. You would be lucky to get away without an earbite. A Nubian cross might give you some milk, but first you have to explain what you want, and that could take a really long time. Like a month.

No matter what you ask them, they always say, "what? Wait a minute, what?"

Anyway Rainy started sidling up to Penrose. And Penrose let her do a milk check. But Penrose doesn't have any milk, because she hasn't kidded for two years. But Rainy hung around with Penrose anyway, since Penrose made a little spot for her in the strawpile, and then discouraged the LaManchas from biting her ears, which is one thing certain LaManchas like to do just as a hobby.

And every little while Rainy would check again, just to be sure Penrose didn't have any milk. And that went on for two nights. And on the third night Rainy's wishing and dreaming and relentless milk checking finally brought the milk down from a way up inside Penrose, who comes from 16 generations of purebred Swiss star milkers.

And so now Rainy has two mothers, a daytime mother and a nighttime mother.

And this just goes to show you that when it comes to milk, you have to want it. You have to really want it. And then you can make it flow, even if it seems like a miracle.

The Miracle of the Loaves, the Fishes, and the Toggenburg

Blue Umbrella has two daughters. They are my cousins. Their names are Blue-Eyed Elaine (Lainey) and Rainy Day (Rainy). Lainey is a mama's girl and stays by Blue most of the time. Oh, she will do a commando assault on the alfalfa stack, sure, but she keeps one eye on her mama while she is sneaking past the security guard. And she comes when Blue calls.

Rainy is a stone-cold hoodlum and does as she pleases.

So what kept happening was this. Dinnertime came and everyone queued up by the gate, jostling to be first to run into our night stall where we get our grain and hay. The farmer opened the door and we all rushed in like a dam breaking and the farmer closed the door and went on to the next thing. That was the system and everyone followed it.

Except Rainy. She would be dancing on our little patio or sticking her head through the fence to grab some blackberry leaves or sleeping or insulting one of the big LaManchas from a safe distance or something like that. And she wouldn't come in for dinner.

The first few times the farmer went and got her. Then Rainy started scampering and fleeing when she saw the farmer. Then the farmer said, "fine. Sleep with the big milkers and no grain and no milk all night. See how you like that."

The next morning the farmer would come out and Rainy would be desperate, yelling to her mama for milk and running around in circles thinking that one more magic circle would probably cause the dinner door to pop open like she was in an Aladdin movie or something. And when Blue would come out in the morning, Rainy would rush up to her and start guzzling milk in a panicky manner even though she is too fat already.

That happened for a couple of nights. But then on the third night, Rainy looked up quite casually when Blue came out in the morning, as if to say, "oh hi, nice to see you, how have you been, is that a new haircut." She didn't even try to get any milk.

"That's odd," said the farmer.

Woops I have to go. Part Two tomorrow.