Diary of a Dairy Goat. This blog is the diary of one goat, Baby Belle, a Nigerian Dwarf who lives on a small dairy farm in Western Washington.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Enough Already About the PJs
Jammies Jammies Jammies.
This is all I hear all day long.
Isn’t Jammies adorable. Look how tiny she is. Look at her cute little udder. Look how she loves the milkstand. Look how she gives the farmer kisses. Jammies Jammies Jammies. Look how she is growing a beard. (A sad little beard to go with her sad little eyes.) Jammies’ milk is so sweet and creamy, it is just like candy. Yada Yada Yada.
I am good and sick of it.
The other day one of the farmer’s friends came over and the farmer launched into the same tiresome Jammies Jammies Jammies monologue.
“Oh,” said the farmer’s friend. “I’d love to try her milk. Can I have some?”
The farmer turned all beady-eyed and started hemming and stammering and offering up crocodile regrets.
“Oh, I am so sorry, if only I hadn’t just used it. How too bad. If I’d known you would want some,” etc etc etc. The kind of excuse that is way too complicated. The farmer’s friend made a skeptical face.
“Maybe next time,” he said grimly.
“Maybe,” agreed the farmer, brightly. Translation: NEVER.
We all know there is plenty of Jammies milk hoarded up in the farm kitchen since the farmer has a terrible fear of running out of the world’s most perfect latte milk.
It was a sad display. Very sad.
This is all I hear all day long.
Isn’t Jammies adorable. Look how tiny she is. Look at her cute little udder. Look how she loves the milkstand. Look how she gives the farmer kisses. Jammies Jammies Jammies. Look how she is growing a beard. (A sad little beard to go with her sad little eyes.) Jammies’ milk is so sweet and creamy, it is just like candy. Yada Yada Yada.
I am good and sick of it.
The other day one of the farmer’s friends came over and the farmer launched into the same tiresome Jammies Jammies Jammies monologue.
“Oh,” said the farmer’s friend. “I’d love to try her milk. Can I have some?”
The farmer turned all beady-eyed and started hemming and stammering and offering up crocodile regrets.
“Oh, I am so sorry, if only I hadn’t just used it. How too bad. If I’d known you would want some,” etc etc etc. The kind of excuse that is way too complicated. The farmer’s friend made a skeptical face.
“Maybe next time,” he said grimly.
“Maybe,” agreed the farmer, brightly. Translation: NEVER.
We all know there is plenty of Jammies milk hoarded up in the farm kitchen since the farmer has a terrible fear of running out of the world’s most perfect latte milk.
It was a sad display. Very sad.
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