Rocky Road

The longest day on record has just almost come to a close.

The longest day came at the end of the longest week, which revolved around a major baby storm. It was a hurricane of babies here this week. I started the baby storm last Friday with my beautiful triplets. Then Wronny had a set of so-so twins. People have been very polite about Wronny's twins. "Aren't they cute?" everyone says.

Which translates to: "what a funny-looking pair, too bad they aren't as pretty as Belle's kids."

Then Winnie had the largest buck kid ever, his name is Samson. The farmer had to pull and pull to get Samson's big head out. There was lots of screaming. Samson belongs to Wendell, he is the first baby goat Wendell has been allowed to have. Wendell has been doing very well, pretending he is Sammy's mother and keeping both ends nice and clean. It is quite a sight to see Wendell and Sammy taking a walk together.

Sammy is a bottle baby, so the farmer has to get up to feed him every ten minutes or so, it seems like.

Well, after Sammy was born Mel the drama queen strung out her delivery forever, going for ultimate time in the spotlight. Then she popped out a set of triplets without batting an eye. She is a toaster, just like her mother Breezy. Those triplets all look the same, and they all look exactly like Mel, black with little patches of white here and there. One has blue eyes.

"Aren't they adorable?" everyone says.

Translation: "they are all the same color, they look like little four-legged priests, too bad they aren't as cute as Belle's triplets."

Okay. Penrose was the last one on the list for this week, and a certain amount of sleep deprivation was setting in. Penrose did not do so well. She was getting milk fever and went into a labor slowdown and wasn't pushing and wasn't eating and just stood around with her head hanging down. Well, the farmer got some calcium into her and along about midnight she finally popped a set of twins out.

Then the farmer stayed up to give her calcium through the night and make sure everything was okay, and those two babies ended up bottle babies too, so they needed to be fed, and pretty soon it was six o'clock in the morning and time to get up. Only no one had really properly been to bed yet.

Well, before I tell you about what happened next we have to tell you the history of raccoons around here. The raccoons hung around a while ago, really nasty raccoons, and they killed all the chickens in a bloodthirsty slaughter, and they were just in general bad characters and stone cold killers. People think they are cute but they will pluck a vein out of your neck in a heartbeat with those devilish little hands. They love to grab helpless chickens or baby goats.

But when Atty came the raccoons left, never to be seen again. Well, lately because of the coyotes, Atty has been spending a lot more time down in the pasture. He is behind the fence down there and can't get up to the barn at night. And we started to see a very insolent raccoon again.

This raccoon would be hanging around the barn in the morning. Wendell would see it and start shaking with fright. The farmer threw a rock at it and a stick and the raccoon didn't care.

The raccoon just turned around and gave the farmer a dirty look and then ambled away, as if to say, I was leaving anyway, I'm not afraid of you, and I'll be back too, whenever I feel like it, and you can kiss my raccoon rump.

Well, the farmer kind of forgot about the raccoon, but this morning when the farmer went to the barn all bleary-eyed, Spenny the border collie suddenly ran up the stairs to the hayloft and started barking like a maniac. The farmer went up into the loft and sure enough, the insolent raccoon had set up camp under a chair in the loft. Spenny ran around and around the chair barking like crazy.

The farmer ran inside and yelled for Lori to get up.

"Get up, Lori, there is a raccoon in the hayloft," the farmer yelled. Obviously it would take a two-person team to handle this vicious creature.

Lori has always gone on and on about her varmint-shooting prowess, so the farmer yelled to Lori to grab the pellet gun. The farmer thought of yelling at Lori to get the real gun - a .22 rifle - but no one had bothered to read the directions on how to shoot that and it didn't seem like the best time to start learning, so the farmer yelled at Lori to get the pellet gun.

Lori ran outside without her pants, possibly attempting to scare the raccoon away.

"Get your pants, Lori," the farmer yelled, " it is a raccoon."

Lori returned with her pants on and started asking the farmer where the safety was on the pellet gun, which did nothing to allay the farmer's doubts about Lori's much-touted gunmanship.

Finally the crack team reassembled in the loft, staying on the far side of the insolent raccoon so that it would have plenty of room to run for the exit without feeling trapped.

But Spenny the border collie, the only one with any guts, had other ideas. She ran right for the raccoon and chased it into a corner.

"No, Spenny," yelled the farmer, meanwhile throwing sticks and brooms and screens and any other thing that came to hand at the raccoon to try to get it to run down the stairs. Spenny was fearless and kept right at the raccoon, which started moving rather creakily toward the exit.

"Get out of the way, get out of the way," Lori began yelling in a masterful voice. It was unclear to whom she was speaking. She put her gun aside momentarily and picked up a shovel and hit the raccoon on the head, and the raccoon tumbled down the stairs, with Spenny and the crack two-person raccoon-hunting team in hot pursuit.

Spenny chased the raccoon toward the porch and by this time the raccoon, still moving at a snail's pace, couldn't think what to do and turned around for a showdown. Lori was about five feet behind, and from this range she was able to swing her pellet gun into position and "Thunk!"

Well, the man at the sporting goods store said that the pellet gun was a dangerous weapon and no toy, and not just something he was foisting off that wouldn't do any good. No, in fact, it was pretty much a world-class firearm, one step down from an AK-47, and in truth this wasn't just any pellet gun but a super-duper .177, which is much more powerful than a regular one.

Anyway, Lori thunked a pellet into the raccoon from about four feet away, which appears to be the outside limit of her range of accuracy. She hit the raccoon in his tummy. The raccoon looked down at his tummy in an offended manner and then up at Lori, as if to say, how unnecessary and how uncouth. Judging from his expression, the pellet shot hurt about as much as a stubbed toe.

Luckily for everyone concerned, the pellet gun is not a repeater. It takes about 15 minutes to get another pellet into it, if you can find one. And just then, as luck would have it, Atty came beelining up from the pasture.

Well, thought the farmer, I guess that will be the end of the raccoon. But when Atty got to the raccoon, he began smelling and nudging it in a very polite manner. Clearly he knew the raccoon and was on friendly terms with it. And in the clear light of day, something else became apparent. The raccoon was extremely elderly. His apparent insolence was probably just arthritis. He didn't run away because he couldn't really run any more. In fact, he looked like he needed a walker.

Everyone stood around, kind of embarrassed, and the raccoon - Lori calls him Rocky now - slunk wearily under the porch.

Spenny had disappeared, but reappeared a moment later barking madly: unnoticed in the confusion, the dog groomer had arrived to fix KT the border collie's hair, which is a mess. The dog groomer made no mention of the shovels and guns strewn about the barnyard, but did ask, quite alertly, "why is Spenny's nose gushing blood?"

Everyone looked at Spenny, and sure enough Rocky had bitten her on the nose, and it was gushing blood. Off Spenny went to the vet for a rabies shot and a hamburger at McDonald's.

We don't know for sure, but we think Rocky may still be under the porch.

The farmer asked him politely to please stay out of the barn and don't bite anybody else and there won't be any more trouble.

Sorry, Rocky.

Minimancha Twins

Oh, I almost forgot, Wronny also had twins on Friday. Here they are, Buttons and Cappy, both have blue eyes.

Cappy is the one in the picture with her mama, Buttons is the one staring into the camera up close. Buttons is already a dickens, in fact her name was Dickens for a while but now it is Buttons. She was jumping on Atty's back while he was guarding them in the shed.

We laughed when we saw Atty because he was lying in the doorway and would not let anyone in the shed without permission. Wendell came down and wanted to see the babies but Atty would not allow him in. Wendell was crying and crying, but Atty knows he is a terrible pest and wouldn't let him in.

Buttons and Cappy look almost just alike except for Cappy's white cap.

Too bad they aren't as pretty as my babies, but I guess they are okay if you like that kind of thing.

Baby Gallery

Well, here are some pictures of the most beautiful baby goats in the world. My children are named AnnaBelle, RubyJane, and Sgt. Bell Pepper.

The tiniest one is AnnaBelle, first she was called Dandelion because her hair was sticking straight out.

Then there is RubyJane, with the blue eyes.

And then there is Sarge, you can see him standing in the back with floppy ears in this group photo.

I think you will agree they are all supermodel babies.

Birthday Party Continued

It's a beautiful day for a birthday party, Wronny agrees with me. She just popped out a pair of blue-eyed minimancha does in record time. Those girls are like two vacuum cleaners, they already drank about a gallon of milk. Now they are snoozing in their shed in the down-below pasture, and Atty is guarding the door.

Happy Birthday Little Belles!

Well you probably have been wondering what I have been doing and I'm here to tell you I have been very busy. Gestating is no easy job. It requires your full attention.

Anyway, I am done gestating now. Yesterday the farmer said, "well, you are probably going to have your babies today, so come up to the barn."

We went up to the barn where my suite had been prepared nicely but I was more than a little perturbed to see that the big tub of grain I had planned on receiving was nowhere to be found.

"You are a little bit chubby, Belle," said the farmer, "but here is some nice alfalfa to tide you over."

Imagine! Alfalfa instead of grain!

Then a couple of hours later the farmer came back and said, "you know, it might be a good idea for you to get some exercise, since you aren't going into labor yet."

And then I was obliged to walk all over the farm for practically an hour without stopping.

Imagine! The indignity! In my condition!

Well, come along night time and the farmer stayed up for a while, then said, "since you're not doing anything, I am going to bed."

Thank you at last for some privacy. When the farmer went to bed I had my babies, and guess what! I outdid myself once again with triplets, two girls and a boy.

The farmer was very surprised at five o'clock in the morning to find us all just finishing our first meal together. The farmer was very apologetic at the sight of the triplets - no wonder I looked chubby - and rushed to get some grain and molasses water for me, which should have been served immediately when the kids were born, and not half an hour later when the farmer felt like getting out of bed.

But anyway, all's well that ends well, and now I can eat almost anything I want, and my beautiful triplets are enjoying their first day on Earth.

Jules T. Jones

The T stands for Trouble, can't you tell? That's her middle name.

The Little Peaches

Let's not forget that Peaches, April's daughter, also had two babies on Friday. They were both girls. Their names are Ginger Jones (aka Jonesy) and Jules Jones. As usual, one has nice LaMancha ears, and the other has full Nigerian ears. Oddly, the Nigerian-looking girl (Ginger, with the blue eyes) is much bigger. That is what always happens.

Gus and April

This is Gus, asking April if she feels better yet.

A Long Story About a Rainy Day in Gorst

And when it rains, it pours. If anyone should know that, we should.

Well, on Friday it was pouring down rain and seven kinds of trouble.

In the morning the farmer got up and April and her daughter Peaches were both starting into labor. The garage up in Gorst, about 45 minutes away, had called the night before to say that the horse trailer was ready after being in the shop for two months with a broken axle, which is another story about seven kinds of trouble but that will have to wait for another rainy day.

Anyway, the farmer really wanted the trailer to go and get some hay and the trailer place is closed all weekend, so the farmer looked at April and Peaches and calculated that there was no way they would kid before noon, and then made what we'll call:

Mistake Number One:
The farmer decided to run up to Gorst and get the trailer as soon as the garage opened and then run back home.

This left Lori home alone babysitting April and Peaches.

The farmer hurried up to Bremerton, paid for the trailer, pulled the truck into the garage parking lot to hook up to the trailer, put the truck in reverse, stepped on the gas, and the truck died. The truck died and remained dead. The farmer looked at Spenny the border collie who was along for the ride as usual and said, "the truck just died."

Spenny the border collie nodded; she knew. Spenny actually had thought something like that might happen but didn't want to say anything.

The truck was dead, stone cold dead, and the only good thing about it was that it was already at a gas station. The garage man said he would be very happy to have one of his mechanics look at it.

ON MONDAY.

The farmer tried and tried to call Lori but Lori was out in the barn and didn't answer the phone. The farmer called a reliable friend who answered from her car. She was on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge (half an hour away) and headed in the opposite direction. She asked if the farmer wanted her to just turn around? Then the farmer made what we'll call:

Mistake Number Two:
"No, that's okay," said the farmer. "I will call my neighbor."

The farmer called a neighbor who is very nice but in retrospect not the most talented navigator. The farmer explained the situation. The neighbor obligingly agreed to go over and tell Lori what was happening and then come and pick the farmer up.

"I'm in Gorst," the farmer said, speaking very clearly. "Do you know where Gorst is? If you take the Belfair Highway up north, it is right where the Belfair Highway meets Highway 16."

"I know where it is," said the neighbor.

Two hours later the farmer was still standing in the rain outside the gas station in Gorst. Something, to point out the obvious, didn't seem right.

The farmer called Lori, who now had her cellphone turned on. "Where are you?" said Lori, sounding very rattled, "are you almost here?"

Peaches was hard in labor by now and having a difficult time. In the next stall over, April's water had broken an hour ago and now nothing was happening. Not a good situation at all.

The neighbor was lost; he thought Gorst was south instead of north and had driven the wrong way on the Belfair Highway, then had to turn around and come back. The 45 minute trip took over two hours, then 45 minutes more to get back home.

The farmer arrived just as Peaches managed to get her second baby on the ground. She and her daughters were tired but doing well.

April was in deep trouble and getting deeper. The farmer scrubbed up and went in and it was a forest of legs, no heads to be found. The farmer tried to get one of the babies out backwards but couldn't get the baby turned around. The other one was upside down and there is no way to deliver a live baby upside down.

The farmer called the first vet on the list. He couldn't come. The farmer called the second vet on the list. He wasn't in the office on Friday. The farmer called the third vet on the list. She was out of the office until 2:30. The farmer scrubbed up again and went back in and tried again; April was breathing hard and shaking and starting to get shocky. No luck.

Lori went inside and called the fourth vet on the list. The fourth vet couldn't fit the farmer in. The third vet's receptionist called back and suggested calling the emergency vet up near Bremerton.

The farmer had never heard of it. "Where is it?" asked the farmer.

"In Gorst," said the receptionist.

Within a few minutes April was loaded in the van and headed for the unknown vet in Gorst. By this time she was shaking and panting with her mouth open. It was a long drive back to Gorst.

When April arrived at the vet she had a temperature of 105 degrees and no color in her gums and by this time certainly the babies were dead. The vet had nice small hands but couldn't get the backwards baby out. But she was young and not conceited, so she asked the vet tech to try.

The vet tech had been raising Alpines for 20 years and within a couple of minutes she had the backwards baby out. He was not only alive he was very feisty; he soon got up and went for a drink of milk.

Now for baby number two. Baby number two would not come out, even with more room to maneuver. He was stuck fast. He had his feet forward and his head tucked into an armpit. Again the vet tried and tried and could not get the head around to pull him out. Again the vet asked the vet tech to try. It wasn't easy but soon she had him out.

He was stunned but alive. After a good slapping (sorry, little man) he sneezed a couple of times.

April was panting and very weak but starting to feel much better. The vet loaded her up on pain meds, and she finally accepted a drink of water and some grain. Her temperature started to come down. Soon the new family was headed home in the van.

April had a rough night then began to perk up. She is doing pretty well now. The farmer thinks she is probably retired from having babies.

The boys are doing well. It has taken a few days for the second baby to get his legs straightened out, he was jammed in so tight. But he gets around pretty well now, and all that oxygen has done his little brain a world of good.

His brother's name is Gus. His name is Come and Get Me I'm Stuck in Gorst and I Can't Get Out.

But we just call him Stuckey.

New Kids on the Block

Eo and her twin boys, born on Thursday afternoon, are enjoying a cozy stay in the barn. From what I can see, the food service is very good up there. Down here we get nothing but hay and a sprinkling of grain, hardly enough to live on.

Anyway, the boys' names are Stetson and Bugsy. Stetson is about 7 seconds older than Bugsy, and bigger. He is calm like his dad. Bugsy is smaller and more mischievous, with a little white cap.

Please welcome Bugsy and Stetson.

Change to the Schedule

There has been a change to the schedule. Eo just had her kids, a pair of little bucklings who look like bunny rabbits with buckskin jackets and big stetson ears. Unlike most little goat boys, they got right with the program: hit the ground, shake it off, stand up, head for the milk bar, fill stomach, go to sleep. All in the space of about ten minutes, which is longer than it takes most of the little boys to just shake it off.

Downstream from Devil's Head

We are not really downstream from Devil's Head, we are upstream. But sometimes you can be downstream without being downstream. And even without any stream.

Devil's Head is at the very southern tip of our little Key Peninsula, which is gradually growing less and less rural. The Key Peninsula is a very beautiful and largely unknown peninsula, full of little bays and coves, and until recently very heavily wooded.

Take for example Devil's Head, which was pristine forest and timberland until the real estate prices soared and developers started moving in. The zoning around here is very whimsical - one set of zoning laws for the regular people, and another set for the rich people.

Devil's Head was always zoned timberland, until a developer bought it and lobbied for the zoning to be changed. The developer had a lot of money, as you might imagine. And the zoning changed, very quickly and very quietly. Imagine the county's secret delight: instead of hundreds of acres of trees, taxed at a rate equal to be about 10% of the rate of the regular residential rate, they soon will have dozens of tax-paying waterfront estates, each valued, no doubt, at a million dollars or more.

With that stroke of the pen, logging crews moved in and clearcut 400 acres for the future waterfront homes of the future soon-to-be-moving-here rich people.

Well, you can cry about that all you want, but I guess it is the way of the world. What can one goat really do. Rich people have to live somewhere.

But so do coyotes. And when they clearcut that 400 acres of Douglas fir forest, one of the last big chunks of woodland around here, all those coyotes had to go somewhere. And where do you think they went?

Downstream. Which, in this case, is upstream.

At night we used to occasionally hear two or three coyotes howling, four or five if it was a big night. And many nights we heard nothing.

Now we hear dozens, and not just at night. They are creeping ever closer to the back pasture: during the big freeze they trotted boldly about during the day, drinking from the creek at the back of our fenceline. Yesterday our neighbor ran outside in the middle of the afternoon, getting two shots off at a pair of coyotes in the back pasture.

We don't like killing wild animals. But we don't like them killing us, either. And it's too bad we have to do it.

After all they used to have a nice waterfront home.

But that's life, downstream from the rich people.

Almost Time...

Usually the kidding season starts around Valentine's Day here. But this year we are not scheduled to start until February 23, which in case you didn't know is this Friday. Right now there are three very big girls in the pre-kidding shed. Eo is first in line, then April, then Peaches.

In case you are wondering how often things go according to the schedule here, the answer is not never. But pretty close to it.

Anyway, here is a picture of Eo and her pal Spenny, back in the days when she was a bottle baby and stood around the woodstove in her pull-ups. Eo liked living in the house but she likes outdoor living better.

Transfer Requested

In this photo, drill team captain Breezy respectfully asks the farmer if Wendell could be reassigned to another drill team, possibly a horse team or even a cat team. Any other team.

Drill Team Dropout

In this photo, Breezy tries to explain to Wendell how the goat drill team is supposed to work.

Wrong Way Wendell

In this photo everyone enjoys a formation frolic in the back pasture. Except Wendell, who has to run in the wrong direction.

Lambs, lambs, lambs

Well obviously baby sheep are not as cute as baby goats. But these come pretty close...

Brandy's Big Baby Part Two: R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Everybody wants it. But not everybody wants to earn it. It is a lot of trouble earning respect. Unfortunately there is no other way to get it.

Unless...

Take for example the case of my daughter Hannah Belle and the farmer. Hannah Belle likes the farmer, but she knows all too well how to act cute and apologetic whenever she gets caught doing something bad, so she gets away with quite a bit of dubious behavior. For example, almost every morning now Hannah Belle jumps over the five-and-a-half-foot wall of her stall as soon as she hears the farmer come out. Hannah Belle is a tad tubby, and she is on a diet, so she is not supposed to get grain. So the farmer doesn't give her any grain.

But she knows the farmer has grain, so she just jumps out and follows the farmer around trying to freeload cob or whatever is on the menu for the nsf (not-so-fat) goats. She nibbles and grabs and snatches here and there until the farmer gets annoyed and puts her back in her stall.

This performance may be repeated several times a day, depending on how energetic Hannah Belle is feeling. Each time she weaves and bobs and pilfers until the farmer gets aggravated, then she gets put back in her stall.

But since yesterday, the farmer has been letting Brandy out during feeding. Brandy thinks the farmer is her baby, and likes to follow the farmer around.

Well yesterday Hannah Belle jumped out of her stall as usual and ran up to the farmer. When she saw Brandy, who turned toward her in slow motion like a bull in the ring, she did a cartoon-character doubletake and put on the brakes in a hurry. She went into a 4-wheel roadrunner skid, but too late to keep from jostling the farmer.

Everyone was watching, and you could hear a pin drop.

Hannah Belle had touched Brandy's baby.

You probably know what happened then. Brandy first grabbed Hannah Belle's ear and bit down hard, then spun her in a half-turn and t-boned her into the wall, then grabbed the other ear and bit down hard, which caused Hannah Belle to turn around in the opposite direction. Brandy t-boned her other side, then took a step backward in preparation for a third t-boning, but Hannah Belle scurried around to the opposite side of the farmer, waving the white flag.

She politely averted her eyes from Brandy to show that everything that had happened was a misunderstanding, and that she would never disrespect Brandy's baby in any way, she would rather stick a fork in her eye, and she moved in shadow step with the farmer to her stall door and then gave the farmer the high sign, "let me in, quick!"

And that is where she has stayed since, as long as Brandy is following the farmer around.

The moral of the story is that if your mama is the herdqueen, you don't have to earn nothing. Even in the animal kingdom, there is such a thing as a silver spoon. And right now, the farmer is really enjoying the view from the top.

Feeling Sheepish

Whew, close call this morning. Atty was chasing a crow off the property - he does not allow crows to land in the pasture - and he ran full speed into the farmer, because he was looking up in the sky instead of where he was going. Well that would have been fine because he just brushed the farmer and didn't do any harm, except Brandy was standing right next to the farmer, since she thinks the farmer is her baby and follows the farmer everywhere, murmuring encouragement. I think she is concerned that the farmer is a special needs baby, so she monitors the farmer very closely.

"Look at you, " she walks along behind the farmer saying, "you are walking all by yourself! And they say you are big and clumsy! How absurd! Keep going, that's it!"

Anyway, Brandy was infuriated when Atty brushed the farmer, and she immediately t-boned him. Now, Atty is usually very tolerant of us goats as long as he is being obeyed, but a full-on t-boning is not on his list of acceptable behaviors, and he turned right around growling and tried to grab Brandy. But luckily the farmer was right there.

So the farmer was able to grab Brandy and restrain her because who knows what she might have done. Hell hath no fury like Brandy when someone messes with one of her babies.

Anyway, if you are tired of reading about goats you can go to the farmer's sister's web site. The farmer's sister is also a farmer, and she works on a beautiful sheep dairy in Tennessee. The lambs have started arriving and there are pictures of the first ones and of the cheese. If you are interested in that type of thing. They do have a few goats, so it isn't a complete waste of time.

The Farmer's Sister's Sheep and Cheese Blog.

The Zen of Peaches

Well, everybody here has a different style. The Soprano Family of LaManchas is bossy and grabby, of course, as we have discussed. The Nubians are relaxed, when they are relaxed. When they are not relaxed, they are prone to panicky bawling and fleeing. Often they flee into danger; Scout once galloped hysterically into a wall and injured herself when she saw the farmer wearing a new hat.

The Toggenburgs are decisive, and they like to make lots of decisions, usually reversing other decisions they have just made: let's do this; no, let's do this; no, let's do this.

The Nigerians are all over the map. Some are smart and thoughtful, like me. Some are needy and self-absorbed, like Breezy.

But the most interesting and complex ones are the crosses, big girls crossed with Nigerians. The miniature Nubians, oddly, are pensive and thoughtful, and hardly ever bawl. The miniature Toggs are shrewd and kind and don't like outsiders. And the mini-manchas, they are something else.

Take Peaches, for example. Peaches is very pretty but ordinary looking, no flashy colors. She doesn't stand out in a crowd. She gives the appearance of being shy and mild-mannered and retiring. She never fights with anybody, she just stands on the fringes of the fracas, looking like she is waiting for a bus.

And she is, in a way.

An interesting thing happens when there is a big upheaval as there has been this week. Skirmishes have been breaking out all over the pasture, because everyone is battling to move up the ladder while Brandy is in the barn. Not Peaches, of course, she just watches the farmer and waits. And what usually happens is this:

The farmer brings the feed out and everyone rushes to the feeders. Winnie finds herself next to April, say, and she turns around - forgetting to eat - and gets into an argument with April. No one notices Peaches, because she looks like she is half-asleep, and her body language says, please ignore me, I am of no consequence, and I certainly would never challenge your authority, oh large important one.

So then April and Winnie get into it, bumping heads, rearing up, telling each other, look, stay away from this food, this is my food. You are a big nobody, and I am one of the most special goats in the world, I am a Goat Idol, and this food is not for you, it is for me, and don't stand that close to me either, by the way.

While they are preoccupied, mild-mannered little Peaches springs - if that isn't too strong a word - into action and eats all the food. She does it very efficiently, like a dolphin, not bothering to taste the food but just throwing it to her stomach, in such a way that by the time April and Winnie have decided who is going to get the food, it is gone. Long gone.

And so is Peaches, who has moved on, to the fringes of another argument, looking drowsy, and waiting for another fight to break out.