The farmer came down and strolled around the down-below pasture.
Everyone followed the farmer as a courtesy for a few minutes. Then since the farmer had no food we went back to more important matters. Except Moldy who continued doggedly.
The farmer looked at the apple trees that had fallen over in the storm. The wood was partly cut and stacked.
"This will make a nice flavor in the pizza oven," the farmer commented to Moldy.
Then the farmer strolled a little closer to the cabana.
"Look here, Moldy," said the farmer, "this is where the morels grow in the spring."
Moldy simpered in acknowledgement.
Then the farmer strolled over to the cabana where I was lounging with Izzy and Ringo.
The farmer sat down on one of the rickety cabana benches and looked up at the sky in a slow-witted musing way. "Pizza Mit Pilz und Ziegenkase," the farmer murmured in astonishment.
Penrose and Joy and Winjay and Moldy and Abby and Brandy looked up at the sky to see what the farmer was looking at.
Izzy dived under the feeder.
The farmer looked over with a sigh at Izzy huddled just beyond arm's reach, chewing her cud shrewdly and giving the farmer a very frank stare.
"I will see you tomorrow, little lady," the farmer said, and got up from the cabana.
Izzy did not say anything but I knew what she was thinking.
Not if I see you first.
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.