By the Gate

Some people get tired of their mother when they get to be big. They forget about all the milk their mother gave them. This would be understandable if their mother was Winjay who did nothing but bite their ears. Other than that it is mysterious. Anyway I am just mentioning this because it just occurred to me.

I guess it occurred to me because my mother Belle Pepper got a little too thin and she went up to the big barn to go on fattening. I did not get too thin unfortunately so I am still down in the fat girl pasture. By this time of year at the end of the winter nobody in the fat girl pasture is really fat any more but it is still called the fat girl pasture which is mysterious.

Anyway I am standing by the gate. My daughter Izzy is standing by me. She stands where I stand. We are waiting. We were crying for a while, about two days, but now we are just standing. Izzy was only crying because I was crying. She cries when I cry.

Anyway everyone else is down in the cabana which is still slated to be demolished but only if it doesn't fall down first and it is going to be a close race because now every little windstorm we have a few more pieces fall off the cabana and by this time it makes the average desperate hovel look like something from the pages of Martha Stewart Living but that is ok, I like to live someplace with an airy feel and it definitely has an airy feel what with the wind blowing in from all directions but that is not really what I am talking about today.

Some of these fancy expensive barns do not have an airy feel is all I am saying. Maybe you should ask yourself does my barn have an airy feel or are all my goats standing outside it lined up head to tail under the overhang to get out of the rain because they do not want to go inside. That is one thing you could put on your list of questions to ask yourself when you have time. Also you should ask yourself why am I buying this cheap hay when the expensive hay tastes so much better?

Anyway I am waiting by the gate because in a few minutes the farmer is going to start feeding us. The gate is as close as I can get to the big barn. Then everyone else will rush up from the cabana and the inside goats will rush out and we will all feed along the fenceline with Eo the boss of the fat girl pasture hogging as much food as possible and on the other side Moldy and Abby will be seething along one side of the line with Betty and Jammies seething along the other side. The minions and underlings will sort themselves out.

Usually I like to eat as much as possible and I am good at getting my share, I am not a wallflower like Blue or Joy, I know how to elbow my way to the front, but I will worry about that later today because right now I am standing by the gate and I won't do anything until I see my mother Belle Pepper come out. Then I will feel a lot better and I will go and hog some food.

I know she is going to come out. But anyway I am just going to stand by the gate until she does.

A Day in the Life of the Weaner Society: Making Up for Lost Milk

Well the time came and the last of the last year's babies went on long-overdue weaning. This was Crumpet, Crayola, and Jinxy. They were separated from their mothers and the mothers heaved a huge sigh of relief and immediately began stuffing themselves to try to make up for lost ground.

I thought there would be an Almighty Oregonian racket but there was hardly a peep among the weaners  it was almost like they knew they had already had way too much milk. Anyway the weaners settled down together and as always happens a little society formed with Crumpet as the President and Jinxy as the Vice President and Crayola as the factotum.

Crayola is Crumpet's air mattress, and so at night time the President waits patiently while Crayola lies down first. Then when Crumpet has picked which side she wants to lie against, Jinxy goes around to the other side and plumps Crayola up a little and then she lies down. And then in the morning Crumpet gets up and then Jinxy. And finally Crayola the air mattress.

Then Crumpet and Crayola scuttle over to the feeder and jump in because that's where the food will be served and Jinxy scurries to a nearby spot in anticipation of the impending hay and grain. She is a little too fat to actually get in the feeder any more. Then they scarf their breakfast with alarming rapidity.

Then they catapult themselves outside for the day, where there is more food, and scarf their brunch with alarming rapidity. Then the same thing when the hay comes out in the middle of the day, then the same thing at night when they gallop on their little cat's feet back to the barn, where the feeders have been refilled.  You should see them bellied up to the dish, it is quite a sight, throwing the food to their stomachs like golden retrievers.

Their motto is the same as North Carolina's, and if they had little license plates on their rear ends which they probably should, the license plates would say: The Weaner Society: First in Feedom.

Sic Semper Weaners.

Patchy Morning Frogs

It is a good thing I wasn't thinking anything, or maybe I was, because the way the frogs are singing now you cannot hear yourself think from dusk to dawn, even if you are thinking aloud as Pinky likes to do because if she didn't think aloud how would she know what her thoughts were. What is she anyway some kind of mind reader? Some kind of part-Nubian mind reader? Some kind of what? What is she? Who's calling, please? Ribbet. Nothing but ribbet.

None of us would ever tell her what her thoughts were, since they mostly run along the lines of, "t-bone Abby," "eat more alfalfa," "t-bone Betty," "eat more grain," etc. So what with the frogs for the last few nights Pinky has been standing around in a daze unable to communicate with herself and leaving a big space at the feeder which Blue makes a point of filling.

"T-Bone Crayola," Pinky reminds herself.

Then, "what?" "speak up!" Then nothing.

Bless the frogs, the moonlight frogs and the patchy morning frogs and all the mighty-hearted loudmouthed little frogs. Bless you.

Speaking of Crayola, just like Sandy she has turned super-sweet. She isn't conceited like Crumpet, she is just a little humblebee. That's good because she isn't in the Baby Belle family so she has no business getting all full of herself, like Crumpet the Grand.

Our spring is coming on, no doubt, the frogs know what they are doing, they do not call a false spring, that is not how they operate.

Some day soon we will have a farewell party for the mud. We will do it British style, with cheery optimism, Goodbye Mud, off you go, here's your trilby and your wellies, sod off now and good riddance, you dirty brown chap!

One Year Later

In case you were wondering, no. We didn't forget you.
Herron Hill Hannah Belle 
6/22/2004-3/3/2012

Camera Hog

Crumpet thinks that the whole world is her red carpet and sometimes it gets pretty annoying. Like in this video Crumpet is supposed to be working the same as everyone else, peeling sticks for the kindling pile. But all she can do is stare into the camera. Am I on? Is this recording? Hello? Hello? Let's talk about me for a while. Me, moi, Crumpet.