The Department of Bad Ideas

Well guess what, Willen the bad pony went to the pony academy and he has learned to pull a cart, as you can see, and looks very fetching in his cart-pulling outfit, or whatever it is called.

That's all well and good, I do not oppose ponies pulling things around or letting people sit on them, or jumping over little fences, or chasing foxes around the countryside. I wouldn't do it myself, but for ponies it is fine. After all, what else do they have to do? It's not as if they spend any time writing poems or thinking about the world's problems, like I do.

But anyway I heard the farmer going on about what a pony genius Willen is, and how cute he is with his cart, and wouldn't it be adorable to have a goat that could pull a little cart too. Wouldn't that just be the ticket.

Well, of course when I heard that I sidled away as best I could, and pretended not to hear anything, but then the farmer went on, saying, "of course it would have to be one of the smart ones," which sounded kind of ominous, because you know that means the Nubians won't be eligible, and Penrose the Toggenburg is not exactly working on her PhD either.

I felt hopeful, though, still, because after all the LaManchas are smart (if you like that kind of 'smart') and they're big, too, some of them actually look like Shetland ponies. But then I heard the farmer say, "and it would have to be one with a good personality," which closes the door on that group.

In fact, it pretty much left me and my daughter Hannah Belle staring at each other, since she has inherited my excellent mind and my outstanding personality along with several other remarkable qualities, including extraordinary good looks and unwarranted humility, as I have mentioned before.

And then the farmer said, "and I would want it be one with a nice beard."

And Hannah Belle kind of chuckled, because in the beard department, she has about as much going on as a beach ball.

Great.

Wendell Van Gogh

Sadly, many of the most gifted and visionary artists the world has known are not appreciated in their own community. We must admit that that is the case with Wendell. After an early immature period where he worked primarily in cloth and rubber, with slippers as his favorite medium, Wendell has moved on to working in metal, glass, and mixed media. Here is his latest installation, a pair of Bartell's reading glasses that have been fully "Wendellized."

And what did his craftsmanship and attention to detail (notice the delicately chewed tip of the earpiece) earn him? Nothing but yelling and a timeout in his crate.

It's true: This world was never made for one as beautiful as Wendell.

Mabel, A Year Later....

Mabel, all grown up. 

Mabel Enters, Stage Right, Yelling

In this video, old April the crabpot (she bites my ears whenever she gets a chance) has Mabel, one of her twin doelings. You can say what you want about April but she does know how to get the babies on the ground. And also, if April is your mother, hardly anyone will bother you. Only, say, a Brandy baby or a Winnie baby would dare to steal your lunch. By the way this video will be old news to Mabel, she is a yearling now.

If you listen closely to the video you can hear April saying, "Where have you been? I have been sitting here in the dark waiting for you, young lady. You could have called. Are you listening? What's this all over you? Have you eaten? Stand up, please. Have you ever heard of a comb?"

Stop and Smell the Ragweed

 

Well good news I am feeling much better. Maybe the farmer is right and I shouldn't eat so many of those locust leaves. Anyway, Hannah Belle will not be writing my blog any more. Please report it if you see any further entries from Hannah Belle.

Today we went out in the front pasture for one of our last strolls of the season. Once the rains come back for good, we will give the front pasture back to the horses. So we gobbled as fast as we could the last of the blackberries.

Then Cammy and Mel and Willa climbed high up into the broken apple tree that fell over on its side at the top of the hill. It is ours now, there is no fence around it. The farmer says it is dead, so we can have it.

But I guess the farmer didn't notice all the apples growing on it. Even though it is lying on its side, it still has one foot in the ground. So I don't know how dead it is. But of course I would never contradict the farmer. Because the farmer knows EVERYTHING.

But anyway there is always one day when you look up and say to yourself, well, the summer is gone. And then of course you miss the summer, even though you were tired of it. It was so hot, and so dry. And the FLIES! Where did they all come from?

But oh goodness, now that it is gone, I miss it terribly. Luckily, I did stop a few times, to smell the weeds while they were knee-high. So I will have something to remember the summer by.

Goodbye Summer! I Love You!