Silver's Day Out

Silver went on a trip today. He got carried around. There was no milk. He didn't like it.

This is What it Sounds Like When Goats Fly

A somber reminder to those with airplane ears.

Blast from the Past: Baby Belle and Friend

This is a picture of Baby Belle when she was a baby, being admired by Caitie, the farmer's niece.

Out of the Gray

Our farmer has been getting grumpier and grumpier to the point where you think there is no room for further grumpification. And then the farmer gets even grumpier.

It happens every year but this is the worst with the longest muddiest winter of all time, and the farm getting more and more downtrodden-looking and the mud getting deeper, the paint peeling and the fences sagging and the blown-off-and-reattached roofs flapping like beach towels even if there is only a gentle breeze.

But that isn't the whole problem. Also by this time of year the farmer has run out of candy milk, and then out of mini milk, and then even Nubian-cross milk, and then even LaMancha milk. So the farmer has to go to the store and buy a quart of cow milk. Well I have had cow milk and it isn't that great but I think it must be getting worse because this year the farmer bought cow milk and couldn't drink it and gave it to Wendell.

He took a few polite laps of it and walked away with a pained expression, and this is an animal that eats goatberries and horse hooves with relish. So that is saying something. The farmer went to another store and came back with soy milk. That was not too horrible but when it was gone the farmer got almond milk instead. That was ok but when it was gone the farmer said, "I will just drink black coffee, and eat dry cereal."

Well then out of the blue - or out of the gray, I should say - we somehow got two days in a row without any rain to speak of, which caused all the horses to go into a coma, laying flat out like they only do on sunny days, looking dead as doornails out in the pasture.

And by this time of course Pinky had had her kids and bounced back to her usual self, and even though she is a first freshener she comes from a lot of milk, and she has way more milk than one little kid can drink, as dedicated as he is to his full-time job of round-the-clock milk disposal. So the farmer took some, saying, "don't mind if I do."

And this morning there was a funny sound when the farmer came out to the barn, and it scared Binky half to death since she is part Nubian. Luckily I was there to explain it.

"That is ok, Binkster," I said in a calming tone. "it is just the farmer, whistling."

Hi Ho

This is Silver. I have to say, I was surprised by how presentable he looked considering everything but then I realized he is my half-brother from the unBelle side of the tree. So that explains it. He's turning into a bit of a crybaby, which I guess is good, because it keeps Pinky alert.*

Anyway, this is Silver.

(Pinky alert, not normal alert, obviously)*

The Silver Lining

It isn't just the rain getting us down. We have had a couple of bad days.

It seems kind of babyish to complain about our little troubles with the world in the state it's in. Really it is just a hill of beans.

But it is our hill. And our beans.

Pinky got very sick. It seemed she might die. But she pulled through. So that was good.

But then she went into labor early, and had two kids, a beautiful little pink girl and a chubby little tri-color boy with silver roaning around his ears.

The little girl died without ever opening her eyes. She couldn't breathe properly.

Pinky turned weak and vacant again, and she wouldn't eat or drink anything. The farmer gave her electrolytes and calcium every hour until she finally started nibbling some fir leaves.

The farmer took Pinky's son and was going to make him a bottle baby. He had been as quiet as a mouse. But when the farmer picked him up he started bawling like a fire engine and Pinky jolted wide awake for the first time since she got sick.

She got up and ran over to the farmer and started licking the baby.

"All right you can keep him," said the farmer. "If you eat your alfalfa."

Pinky ate her alfalfa.

Pinky's son is called Silver.

Silver Lining.

Raina palooza

There is no use mincing words, I will just come out and say it. Damn this rain. Curse and damn it. Damn it all to heck.

Big Orange

Something has happened to Big Orange. She used to be the Mayor of Crazy Town. Well, she still is. But she has turned super super super sweet, it's very baffling, I wonder if there is some kind of secret contest going on where the sweetest goat wins a truckload of licorice or something. If there is, please email me, I definitely could take my sweetness up several notches if there is a good reason. I don't want to waste a bunch of sweetness though.

Also my daughter Izzy moved out on her own. She is nice when she sees me in the pasture but she has decided she prefers living in the unbelievably dilapidated cabana. The cabana, if they showed it on tv to represent a hillbilly goat shack, would probably be vetoed as being too overdone. It has been 'slated for demolition' for years. The roof has been blown off several times and replaced with decreasing enthusiasm and skill each time. Supposedly it is going to be replaced this summer if it ever stops raining. Which it hasn't.

Top of the Pops

No offense to Darren, but if this is all it takes to get on Britain's Got Talent, then we are going to open a goat talent agency. I mean, come on, even Marty the Nubian knew how to open the door and go in the kitchen and look through the cabinets for fig newtons. And my grandmother Baby Belle invented a time machine. (We can't show it to you right now because she is using it.) On the other hand I guess waving is pretty good for a Nubian.

Breaking News

The sun went in. 34 degrees. For tonight it will either snow or pour down rain. Can't decide which I want. Maybe some of both. Heads they win, tails we lose.

Breaking News

The sun is out. The sun has been outed by the clouds.

Springless in Seattle

The farmer came out yesterday and announced that the winter is over because Jammies the little Buddha has starting shedding her undercoat out in long woolly strings.

"Good News," said the farmer. "The winter is over and we have Jammies to thank. Thank you, Jammies."

It continued raining and half-snowing stubbornly and when the farmer left Maddy the Sheriff of Crazy Town suggested we all t-bone Jammies.

Brandy said that wouldn't be fair, she is all for t-boning but only when deserved, and she gave Maddy a thrashing.

Outside it continued raining and showering with fierce winds and trees blowing over. Etc Etc Ibid Ad Nauseum. No news from the frogs.

I am starting to think if the spring won't come, maybe we should go to it, wherever it is. It is probably just up the road somewhere, maybe in Purdy. I wouldn't mind walking to stretch my legs. Except for the mud.

Maybe someone would drive us. If someone is going that way anyway and has a little extra room for me and Izzy and Belle Pepper and maybe Blue and Rainy and Betty and Iota and Terra and Hannah Belle let me know. Or even if you just have room for me and Izzy. Don't worry, we're not bringing Moldy.

Death March

You know what they say, in like a hatter, out like a hare. March is here and it's just as miserable as February. Mud up to your pasterns, stale hay from last summer, halfway snowing all the time, berries in the water buckets, everybody in a bad mood.

I feel like I am getting older every day, that's how bad it is here.

Send us some sunshine if you have extra. We'll send it back in October.

The Coldness Continues

The Coldness has not abated. It continues. We have returned to our pile-sleeping method, laying aside our differences, and softly crooning 'Kumbaya' each night when we hear the water in our buckets freezing. Someone's cudding, Lord, Kumbaya. I send my condolences to the prematurely musical frog families who may have perished in this time of frigidity. Also to the little daffodil under the fir tree which turned to glass and shattered when Wendell peed on it. RIP, fragile flower.

ps someone chewed the straps off Peaches' coat and now she can't wear it. Please, you kids out there, please do not chew the straps off coats. Thank you. And don't text while you are head-butting either. Thank you.

I Was Right

Frogs stopped singing. 6 inches of snow on the way.

I Do Not Think That They Will Sing to Me

A couple of days ago it was a partly beautiful day. Then yesterday was a snow day then a slush day then a rain day. Then today was rainy followed by showers followed by sunbreaks followed by rain followed by clearing, from the north, which means it will get cold again. We are tired of the winter, just dead tired of it, even when it is partly beautiful. They say the winter will go on, and everyone still has a woolly undercoat, Elbie looks like the world's tiniest bighorn sheep (without the horns), and the crazy unbred does are still coming in heat.

All those things mean more winter.

But yesterday, against all odds, the frogs started singing. Each to each.

Speaking of bighorn sheep, here's one, who explains politely to the people in this video that it is time to leave, even giving several courtesy bumps, before he is forced to put his foot down.

Like Dam, Like Kid

Sometimes, anyway. Boxcar Betty is not a troublemaker. Butter would not melt in Peanut's mouth. (Right?) And Cora Belle is a kind and gracious lady. (Maybe?)

But pictured below is Terra Belle, HB's youngest daughter, who has started young on a life of larceny, doing the family proud.

Don't Mind If I Do

Take a look at this video, and see if you can guess whose daughter it is.

Uninvited Guest

BD is back.

This afternoon in the broad daylight the farmer came outside and all of us were crammed into a corner of the upper pasture, all faced in the same direction with our backs against the barn, all staring at the same thing.

BD.

BD was all the way up at the down-below feeder. The farmer went in the tack room and came out in a hurry, meaning business, with the rifle.

The farmer got three shots off, none of them coming anywhere near BD, who took off like a blue dart, knowing the difference right away between a pellet gun and a real rifle. The farmer sat outside with the rifle for twenty minutes, peering out at the tall grass, but BD knew better than to show his whiskers.

"All right," said the farmer, and unloaded the rifle, and started walking up to the barn.

Halfway up there came a not quite distant enough sound from two farms over. A big ruckus of squawking chickens.

"Uh oh." said the farmer.

Then we all had to stand still for a head count, as if even BD would tangle with a tanker truck like Betsy. The numbers didn't come out right and the farmer hollered for Izzy.

"Where is Izzy?" yelled the farmer. Nobody answered, we were all still rattled, but I looked around because after all it was a very good question.

The farmer could see I didn't have Izzy and started looking around at all the milkers, but then Penrose took a little step to one side, showing Izzy huddled in a tiny seam between her and the wall of the barn.

Good old Saint Penrose.

Great Expectations. Or Maybe Not.

Well the farmer did not get around to taking a picture of Jammies I'm sure that comes as a terrible shock. Anyway Jammies is past her expiration date and now won't kid until May unless she kids before then which could happen. She is very rotund but that is no surprise the way she butterballs around the feeder. I personally doubt she is even bred at all.

But maybe she is who knows, Pinky was marked on the chart as a Grade A virgin and it looks to me like she is growing her udder out. Of course there is no way of verifying that since the chart disappeared when the computer crashed. So now there is only uncharted waters all around us up to our neck.