Peninsula Snow Diary

The snow has begun again.

There is a blizzard. That sound is the farmer cussing.

The snow has sort of stopped.

Clementine doesn't feel good so she is wearing the velcro sport jacket.

Now it is raining and the snow is getting pocked with raindots. There are also a lot of berries in the snow. It is unsightly. Note to self: don't eat snowberries.

Laddy the Tennessee Walker has undone his belly strap for the 38th time in the last week. That sound is the farmer cussing.

Weather says 10 inches of really wet snow from the South tomorrow. This means someone with two legs will have to go up on the roof of the dairy and brush the snow off because otherwise it is too heavy. That sound is the farmer cussing.

We are deciding which of our Caprifections we will make next spring. Certainly cajeta. But what about goat milk fudge or black bottom goat cheese cupcakes?  Also perhaps some Baby Belle's buttons, this is just a cute little snowball of chevre with goat milk caramel on top. (cajeta.) Oh well, right now we don't have any milk, it's very sad. I did notice that Abby is secretly still hoarding some milk but no one has noticed.

An ugly gray yellow sun ball is trying to peek through the snow clouds.

Pinky is BWAAAing.

It is rai-now-ing now. That is rain and snow at the same time.

More later. Must get under the tree.

Waiting for White

In this film, titled "The Day Before the Snow," everyone prepares ominously for the snow which is forecast to reach to Pebbles' hipbones. It is a Bergmanesque Goat Ballet without any dancing.

Picnic Cancelled

Well it has been no picnic here. If anyone is wondering whether it has been a picnic, no, it has not been a picnic. Betsy Bigoletto had gotten moved out of our pasture which is erroneously known as the fat girl pasture because the fat girls were getting thin because Betsy was eating all the food that we were all supposed to share. It was quite shocking really. 

So anyway Betsy got transferred to the high and mighty pasture where she even cowed Wronny with her sheer bulk. This was fantastic, we could actually grab a smattering of grain here and there. Finally, a few blades of hay. 

Meanwhile Betsy started wearing out her welcome up at the Hilton. She hurt Brandy's feelings. She t-boned Pinky. She tried to pick Clementine up  by her tailfeathers. Nobody seemed to mind any of that.

Then one day in her zeal for calories she bit one of Pebbles' ears. You could have heard a pin drop, because the farmer was standing right there when she did it. Pebbles was rushed immediately to the grain room so that she could stuff herself with grain in an effort to assuage the deep pain of earbiting which only those who have ears can truly appreciate.

So big surprise now we have Betsy back. And on top of that there is a report of impending snow. So there you have it.

A Break in the Weather

The New Year is upon us and it is a lot like the old year. Today it rained a monsoon and we were stuck inside. Then the farmer threw us out just as it was getting dark to muck the stalls. 

"Get out," the farmer snapped at everybody. "There is a break in the weather and you can all go and pee outside for a change." 

Not so much as an "if you feel like it." Or "if you wouldn't mind."

Everyone shambled outside except Brandy who didn't feel like it. The farmer was not in a mood.

"Fine," snapped the farmer, and Brandy got booted into the fat girl pasture.

Not so much as a "right this way." Or a "thank you for coming." No, not today.

"What does it mean, 'a break in the weather?' "  asked Pebbles as we stood under a tree observing the downpour burbling in sheets and rivers all around us. The winter ducks quacked distantly from Lost Beaver Lake down the hill.

"It means the weather is broken," explained Abby. "Like the roof on the buck shed."

"Where the rain comes in?" asked Pebbles.

"Exactly," said Abby, pointedly.

Pinky began to bawl bitterly. She was standing directly under the downpour, experiencing the break in the weather up close and personal, and the Nubian part of her brain was filling with sadness, a great lake of sadness that could only be expressed through bitter bawling.

"BWAA!" she called. 

"BWAA!" she responded, in fierce agreement with herself.

That was today.

The Greatest Hits of 2011

Well it is the end of the year and time to review the most popular posts of 2011.

Coming in at Number One was a post about Raw Milk Pants. We are going to make a pair for Wendell for the spring.

Number One: Raw Milk Pants.

At Number Two was a post that is several years old. But it has always been very popular, especially at Christmastime. We couldn't understand why until we got some emails from Japan about it. When people are learning to speak English in Japan they read a lot of Dickens. When they get to the end of "A Christmas Carol," they don't understand what it means. So they google the phrase "Total Abstinence Principle." And then they get sucked up into the long winding Internet tubes and spit out at a little Dickensian goat farm in Western Washington. God Bless Them, Every One.

Number Two: The Total Abstinence Principle.

At Number Three we have the mysteriously popular triumph of Pebbles at the State Fair.

Number Three: That's Right.

At Number Four, the Return of B.D., starring Saint Penrose.

Number Four: Uninvited Guest.

At Number Five: the first photo of Clementine the Fairy Goat.

Number Five: In a Cavern, In a Canyon, Excavating for a Mine.

Number Six needs no introduction.

Number Six: At Your Service.

Number Seven: Adorable baby goat needs new name.

Number Eight: Horrors, Pebbles outgrows her stolen parka. 

Number Nine: Occupy the KP.

Number Ten: My New Sisters.

How to Lose the Post-Christmas Blues

Well we got all the way through Christmas without any much rain. So then everybody had to put a jinx on things by talking about how this could turn out to be the driest December ever. So the dam burst and it has settled into a steady downpour which makes everyone feel gloomy and by the amount of rain we have had the last two days even with several days left in the month I can pretty much guarantee that this will not be the driest anything.

We also were entering a post-Christmas depression because we had eaten all the treats we were given including a bag of stale peanuts the farmer found in a box that went to the fair three months ago and I waited to see if Betsy would suffer any ill effects after gobbling several of them but they were just fine except they tasted a bit ribbony.

Anyway what should happen but we get one of those little pink slips in the mailbox telling the farmer there is a package at the post office since the USPS out here can't be bothered to bring you the packages, they will only bring the little pink slips as if they tried to deliver the package, even going so far as to hand you the slip when you happen to be down at the mailbox with its jolly note saying that we "tried" to deliver the package but you weren't home or something. But anyway that is another story for a grumpy day.

The farmer went to the post office and there was a package from Missouri for Pebbles.

Inside many many excellent treats, including peanuts and pretzels and instructions for how they should be distributed.

Some of the stipulations were a bit onerous ("be nice to Pebbles", etc) but in light of the treats belonging mostly to Pebbles I have decided to abide by them. Until the treats are gone.

The Joyful Noise

Jammies and Wronny are nothing alike. But they are birds of a feather. They live in a silent world.

Wronny could be having a set of big-headed breech quadruplet bucklings, or she could have one of her hooves slammed in a car door, and she would not make a peep. Jammies is just the same, a little church mouse.

I don't understand it myself, if I need some food I want the management to know about it. Or if I have an itchy spot, I like to notify the farmer. Also when I am having my babies I want to arrange the special treats in advance, not at the last minute when they might be out of swedish fish at the store. And if Pinky is t-boning me, surely that is a good time to call 911. That's what it's for, after all.

But not Jammies. Jammies' plan is to scamper away from trouble and to keep mum on almost every topic, just like Wronny. Except for the scampering, they are temperamental twins. Wronny is the Queen, and she doesn't scamper.

So anyway this week Jammies came into heat and she was ushered into the buck pen and even though she likes to leave the station immediately once she has been serviced - she is not one to linger and chat about the Iowa Caucuses - it was a busy day and Jammies did not get any exit visa. Instead she stayed silently in the buck pen all that day, running like a cat on a hot tin roof to stay one step ahead of the buck.

Several times I looked over and she was panting heavily; her winter coat looks like ten fluffy layers of pashmina. Luckily before long Big Orange came into heat and went and stood outside the fence of the buck pen, and this created a distraction that gave Jammies some breathing room.

The next day the farmer had to go to town and didn't get home until after dark, and so Jammies spent two days in the buck pen. And by that time she was resigned to it.

"I guess this is my new life," she said to herself, and she picked out a corner of the pen that was farthest from the buck but still upwind - with the best escape routes  - and she settled in to live the rest of her life in the Garden of Smelly Aerobic Exercise.

And she never complained or called 911 and just then of course the farmer came down and said, "Jammies! It is Christmas Eve! You come out of there!"

And Jammies scampered like a little white tornado out of the buck pen, as fast as anyone could hope to go on inch-long micro-mancha legs - and she ran like the wind toward the barn, and halfway up the hill she couldn't stop herself, she started bucking and dancing with delight, and she made a joyful noise for all the world to hear.

And lo, the next day it was Christmas.

The Winner...

Well it is time to tell the correct answer to the quiz. The correct answer is Big Orange.

Big Orange does not belong in the photo for all the reasons mentioned:

1. She is not polled, and has never had any hermaphrodite children.
2. She has a distinct advantage in the mammary system.
3. She is orange.
4. She is a goat.
5. She is a productive member of society.
6. She has no implants of any kind.
7. She is a strict vegetarian, and can be trusted with a knife.

But first and foremost, Big Orange does not belong in the picture because she is a Bigoletto and not a Kardashian.

Congratulations to our winner pictishwitch!


Applause applause applause. 

In other exciting news, Pebbles has gotten bigger than Sandy, who was almost twice Pebbles' size at birth. Congratulations to Pebbles, who worked her way up from Peanut size to Plus size through sheer determination and diligent round-the-clock eating.

Scattered polite applause.

In yet more thrilling news, Wendell has had his rightful jacket returned to him and wears it proudly as he hogs heat in front of the stove.

Tepid congratulatory murmur. 

K is for Kristmas...

We are having a holiday giveaway and the prize is two bars of soap.

We will send you the soap* if you win. We will put all the correct answers to the question below in a wool hat and pull out a winner and we will send the winner the fantastic prize described above (two bars of soap).

You must answer the question* correctly and we ask you PLEASE TO BE FAIR and DO NOT CHEAT or LOOK THE ANSWER UP ON GOOGLE. You can email your answer or put it in the comments.

Which of the individuals pictured in the graphic below does not belong in the photo? Explain your answer if necessary. Thank you.

*Soap FAQ:
What kind of soap is it? It is plain brown soap made with goat milk. It has a little bit of oatmeal and honey in it. Is it fancy and has a lot of stimulants in it? No, it is plain brown soap. Can I eat it? No, it is soap. What can I do with it? You could wash your hands for a change.


*Question FAQ:
Is it a trick question? You tell me. 

B is for (Shared) Brain

It hasn't rained properly for two weeks. What can this mean?

In December it either rains every day or it is bitter bitter cold because there is no cloud cover. Never above freezing, day or night, with urgent prayers offered for the pipes, and penances done in exchange for pipe safety. Please accept this small drab ugly misshapen handmade scarf, dear Pipe Lord, in exchange for winter pipe immunity, with many thanks, on bended knee, etc, yours truly, with love, from Herron Hill Dairy, and wear it around your Lordly neck for many years in good health and perpetuity and so on. If it be Thy Will.

But it has not rained at all by our standards, and yet the weather keeps coldish without being frigid. Around 30 at night and around 40 during the day, hardly any pipe danger. What can this mean? Please write if you know, we hope it isn't another sign of the Apocalypse.

Meanwhile the forecasters keep doing their swirly graphics on tv, tap dancing as they explain why this new development - no rain in December - is another sign of La Nina - wetter winter than normal. It's very sad, probably they had the graphics made specially and can't return them now. Oh well.

Anyway for a while we almost thought La Nina might be a good name for the Betsy Family, but so many other good names were proposed that we set it aside.

I really like the Nubleones. But the Nubleones sounds a little too actual, like it might almost be a Powerful Family, not like the Betsy Family.

And the Darlins is a little too dear, because certain members of the Betsy Family really do hunger for power (Tangy), although most of them just hunger for food.

And the Real Housewives of the Key Peninsula, while tempting, doesn't take into account the fact that the Betsy Family hardly ever engages in catfights, and none of them have ever had their teeth whitened, nor had their udders surgically enhanced.

The Borg is nice, we like the singular plural, especially in this case, since it often appears that the Betsy Family shares a brain, and someone left it out in the summer meadow by accident instead of returning it to their Central Intelligence Agency, which the farmer keeps in a little oatmeal can in the tack room, and that's why they are all standing out in the rain crying wetly instead of just walking inside, where it's almost like it isn't raining at all - especially this December - since there is a little thing called a ROOF that seems somehow magically to keep the rain from touching you.

(Offscreen: Awestruck murmur from the Betsy Family: who invented that thing the ROOF? How did they think of it?)

Anyway we are down to two finalists. One is still the Kardashians. The other is the Bigolettos.

The Kardashians has the advantage of being instantly recognizable and of course there is a certain family resemblance, although in my opinion the Betsys are significantly more attractive than the actual Kardashians in almost every way, despite their Nubian roots. Especially Clementine, she is cute as a button.

The Bigolettos has the advantage of starting with B, nothing new for the Betsys to memorize. It also captures their essential Bigness, without being too subtle or freighted with unnecessary cleverness. Cleverness can be so tiresome, don't you think?

Next post: the undergoats.

KBetsy et al

As you know our farm is ruled by the Soprano family, which is Brandy and the daughters of Brandy, and their daughters and so on, including Wronny, Winnie, Maddy (aka the Sheriff of Crazytown), Jessie, Winnie Jr., Morchella, etc.

But the Betsy family has been hinting that it would like to take over some of the power which will never happen because the Betsy family is part Nubian and if they ever sat down to sign the papers the Betsy family would agree to the $5,000 undercoating and rock-chip prevention, the $2,000 Scotchgarded seats, the document fees, the extended warranty to the year 2525, and all the other fine print that the Sopranos would add in while the Betsy family was focusing on the free popcorn in the manager's office.

So I don't think the Betsy Family can rise to the top, but there is no doubt that they have risen and they definitely seem to think that they should have their own clan name, like the Sopranos.

So I tried to think of a good name and the first thing that sprang to mind of course was the Kardashians, which kind of sums up the Betsy Family.

But the problem with that is that almost all of them would have to change their names, and it took so long to learn the ones they have that it doesn't seem like a good idea.

You know what I mean: Kbetsy, Kbig Orange, Kxie xie, Kbinky, Ktangy, Kpinky.

Kclementine would be ok, I guess.

So please let me know if you can think of a better name for the Betsy Family. Thanks.

Look Out, World

The farmer has a new idiot-proof camera.

24/7/1095

Well Wronny is almost five and she has been milking practically her whole life, the farmer sat down and figured out that she has been out of milk for a total of six weeks since she was a yearling, which is not very much and probably a violation of union rules. This is her own fault and she has no one else to blame for it because in spite of the fact that she doesn't really go in for love and kisses she is the type of goat whom anyone can milk, so she was always kept in milk for the cheesemaking classes.


Winnie is also the type of goat anyone can milk, even more so, and she tolerates hugging pretty well, but she has a habit of not settling, which is what she did last year, so she has been off work since last spring.


Well anyway Wronny got dried off as I mentioned and she will have at least five months off since she isn't bred yet. I'm sure she will use the time wisely to boss everyone around and probably develop some kind of Wronny Boot Camp for the feeble-minded and disobedient.

Tangy will be her first camper; Tangy accidentally forgot that she wasn't the Boss of Everything and got a refresher course the other day when she scrambled ahead of Wronny at the hay feeder.

The other milkers are all dried off, too, so there is no milk. Except wait, Cherry didn't want to dry off, she kept on milking so she is on once a day milking only for the purpose of latte milk. Cherry is part Nubian so it always seemed like she might not be a good candidate for student milkers but lately you can't get her off the milkstand and she loves being scratched and petted almost to the point of unseemliness and so I hate to break it to her but she might not get a day off for the next three years.


That's 1095 days if you do the math.


Congratulations, Cherry.

STARTLING FACTS

Today is Wednesday. It is a day of startling FACTS.

I will use CAPS to draw your attention to these FACTS in case you are feeling sleepy.

The SUN is shining BRIGHTLY in spite of the fact that it is NOVEMBER.  They say that it will not RAIN for at least the NEXT WEEK. I personally do not believe it but I will wait and see what happens.

WRONNY our herdqueen has been DRIED OFF. Wronny is five and she has been milking since she was a yearling with only about six weeks off in all that time.  She does not like being dried off and it has not improved her personality.

I am IN HEAT and I have been denied my CONJUGAL rights and I am going to do something about it. In case you are wondering I feel very EMPHATIC today.

Those are the startling facts. Now for some not so startling facts.

Pinky is NOT GETTING ANY SMARTER.

Brandy is NOT GETTING ANY YOUNGER.

Willen is NOT GETTING ANY THINNER.

Also today is the LAST DAY in the Mannapro video contest. Our cousins at Minter Bay entered a video starring Farmer Wendy and you should go and see it if you haven't and vote thumbs up for it to help them win the prize.

My cousin Cora Belle is in it, HOGGING SPECIAL FOOD as her whole family is prone to do.

Thanks

Well it is Thanksgiving today and we are counting our blessings.

Our blessings are:

It isn't raining right now because it is saving up for the monsoon that is planned for this afternoon.

Precious Precious Pebbles did not freeze without her jacket because she was able to develop a thick layer of blubber from all the special treats she got.

Brandy is still alive even though she is an old bag and she even started bossing Wronny around again which everyone politely ignored because Wronny is the Boss of Everything and you shouldn't act like she is being bossed around even if you see it with your own eyes.

The hay did not run out yet.

The grain did not run out yet.

Jammies sleeps in the pile next to me and she is like a cast-iron potbelly stove.

Betsy's eye grew back.

That little mini-mancha daughter of Binky's finally went out of heat and stopped screaming.

The helpers came and put the roof back on the buck shed. (The farmer is too fat to go up there.)

I have three new sisters.

Tomorrow is another day.

Thanks.

Go Like the Wind

The Internet travels so fast that you think you know everything right away. But then it turns out you weren't paying attention and something you would like to have known zipped by while you were eating your alfalfa.

A few years ago the farmer went to a special screening in Seattle of the movie Seabiscuit. There were a lot of kids there and an emcee came out and he said before the movie started there was a special guest to introduce and would everyone mind sitting quietly for a moment and then one of the doors to the movie theater opened and a big bay horse walked in from the lobby, as serene as you please with a jockey on top, and matter-of-factly clopped down the long staircase from the back of the theater and went right up to the podium in front of the movie screen.

As calm as you please, not batting an eye when the auditorium erupted in applause despite the announcer's suggestion about sitting quietly.

The horse was Chinook Pass, the only Washington-bred Eclipse Award winner, and the one-time fastest horse in the world.

I suppose being the fastest horse in the world is not a bad trick, but there was something about this horse that was more interesting than that, something you wouldn't very much expect from the fastest horse in the world, and that was the way he radiated peace. Marty used to do that. And I have seen Jammies do it once or twice.

Perhaps it was because his best friend was a goat.

Anyway, we just found out that Chinook Pass died last year at the age of 31, and we were very sorry to hear it.

We send our condolences to Ellie.

Milk Time

Wendell isn't allowed to milk and you can see why in this video.

Adagio for Strings

Part 1. Goat Spring turns to Goat Winter.

Sometimes it seems very hard to get ahead in the world. You work and you work. And what happens. Nothing.

All summer I was eating blackberry bushes through the fence. Now the horses are in our summer pasture and the blackberries are just growing back. The horses are too high and mighty to eat blackberry bushes, all they will eat is apples and grass.

At first I was disgruntled about this but then I realized it is actually good. There will just be more blackberries when we go back in the front pasture.

We tried to put on a nice revolution and what happened. Nothing. The farmer fixed the fence and the Goat Spring is over. At first this seemed unfair but then I realized it keeps the milkers from hogging our meager supply of food. Sometimes the 'revolution' favors the fat. A fence can be better than a revolution.

I made a plan to become Top Milker some day and then I realized that I am not going to get any bigger and Wronny is about three times my size and I don't think anyone as small as me with no sisters has ever been Top Milker so it's probably impossible. But I did make some sisters, and maybe we can all pool our milk to become Top Milker together.

If not, we will just go around saying we are Top Milker, like Betsy does. Sometimes saying it makes it so. And after all, Top Milker is a state of mind.

Part 2. My brush with immortality, starring Abby.

A lady came over who was an artist and explained she wanted to do goat paintings.

The farmer did not know quite what to say so settled for "I see."

The lady suggested starting with a picture of a little goat and she pointed to me. "This one would be perfect."

"That's Millie," said the farmer.

"I could start with Millie," the lady said, then lapsed into a long story about herself and how she had become an artist because of her keen powers of observation and her sensitivity.

"I see," said the farmer.

The lady wanted to know if Millie (that's me) would be a good goat for a painting. She would take a picture first and then do the painting from the picture.

"Millie would be fine for that," said the farmer, mysteriously not mentioning Pebbles at all in spite of Pebbles' extreme talent for being photographed.

Then the lady explained to the farmer that she was going to observe me with her keen powers of observation before taking the picture so that she would be able to capture me perfectly. "Her inner essence."

"Okay," said the farmer. The lady studied me for several minutes with pursed eyes then she went to her car to get her camera and she came back and she spent quite a while using her keen powers of observation as she followed Abby around and then captured her perfectly on the camera.

"Thank you," said the lady as she was leaving. "And thank you, Millie!" she said, waving to Abby.

If you see a painting somewhere of a little goat that looks like it is from Oregon and it is simpering at the camera and the picture is called "Millie's Inner Essence" or something like that, I just wanted you to know that I do not simper and it isn't me.

Part 3. The Family Tree.

Some people came in late and they are confused about who I am.

I am Herron Hill's Million Belles, known as Baby Belle Jr. People call me Millie.

I am not the original Baby Belle. My grandmother Baby Belle was the original Baby Belle. Don't worry, we are doing an infographic about it.

Being Baby Belle is like being the Queen, or the Dalai Lama, or Punxsutawney Phil. You cannot choose it. It chooses you.

Ommm.

Everybody's Learning How

This is why I would never move to California.

Pebbles, Without Her Jacket

Send help!