Somebody Has To

Someone pointed out that if Crumpet is the most famous goat in the world, where does that leave me?

It is a good question.

Anyway Crumpet did not do anything famous yesterday.

Crayola has never been famous or even very well known but yesterday she spent the day acting adorable I am not sure why. She and Jinxy took turns standing by the gate so their backs could be scratched and making adorable sleepy eyes. I am not sure why but they were both putting on a big show of adorability. Where does that leave me, if I am not the most famous or the most adorable goat in the world? I am not in a Doritos commercial either, and I should have been.

I guess I can't worry about that. Last night the coyotes were singing in desperate harmony and they sounded closer than ever and I know the farmer is not a good shot but I guess I can't worry about that either.

It has not rained for a long time here mostly because it has been too cold but this morning the rain started back, cold and sleety and looking fairly interminable. Sometimes it looks like it is only interested in raining for a few minutes, but sometimes it looks fairly interminable and that is what it is doing now and I know the roof in the cottage leaks and as far as the cabana the only news would be if it stopped leaking since it is a sieve.

But the only thing I know about roofs is how to stand on them so what am I going to do.

Sometimes it is just best to get into a zen state and accept the things you cannot change.

Screw that, I am going to do something. About everything. Somebody has to.

The Most Famous Goat in the World

Well what happened was it didn't work out that well with Crumpet playing the piano. Oh she could play the notes all right but she just didn't play with any feeling. The playing was so soulless that none of the dogs even sang along with it. "That is just a lot of pounding," the farmer finally said, and the piano lessons stopped.

Ok so then we moved on to drums since nuance did not seem to be her strong suit and she rode completely roughshod over notations in the music. "Con fuoco," "adagio," "incalzando," "allegro non troppo" - it was all the same tin-eared pounding.

So we tried the drums instead.

That was worse if anything. Soulless piano playing is one thing but soulless drumming is like a rumenotomy. Or I guess like a root canal if you are a person.  Crumpet on her little bongo was a disaster, it made Pinky banging her head against the wall - which she likes to do, for some reason, I think she is trying to shake an idea loose - sound like a band of angels playing harp music on a balmy midsummer night's eve.

"Oh please bang your head, Pinky," we would beg, when the bongo started up. Just to drown it out. And by the way Pinky may have to sit out a few games after this, until she is cleared to play again by the team doctor, but it was definitely worth it.

Then a few more desperate ideas popped up: maybe Crumpet could write romance novels. Really? She has never even been in heat. Or maybe she could run for political office. "Barn Mayor," suggested Winjay, and Wronny t-boned her into the wall. Ok, so most of the positions around here are already filled, but maybe something less important, Vice President of the United States or something. Really?

But then in the end Belle Starr came up with the best idea because let's face it this is the Internet Age and you don't really need any skills or accomplishments any more, you don't have to do anything, you can just be something. Just announce that you are something and then be it. And maybe if you get around to it you could develop an app about yourself, an app celebrating your celebrity that people could look at on their iPads.

So we decided that Crumpet would be the most famous goat in the world, and we will all just keep repeating that until it becomes a fact. Then someone with nothing else to do will enter it into wikipedia, and it will become reality.

So we are going to start making announcements about Crumpet and it would be good if you could do that too. And in future when we refer to her it will be as Crumpet, the most famous goat in the world. And if anyone asks you who is the most famous goat in the world just say, "oh, Crumpet, of course."

And if anyone asks what she is famous for just say "for being Crumpet." Or you could just shake your head in amazement and say, "you need to download the Crumpet app if you don't know that."

Happy New Year!

It is New Year's Day where we are and we wish you the best New Year ever!

The Swim-Off

Yesterday there was a big wind storm with sticks and branches flying everywhere and the metal roof on the cabana rattling and flapping. It didn't come off and no one was killed. Then last night it snowed a half an inch of snow. Very wet snow. It will be a winter wonderland for the next 45 minutes or so until the rain comes back and washes it away.

Crumpet is on special treatment with multiple trips to the grain bin every day and a new jacket. Oh wait that is not special treatment for Crumpet. That is ordinary treatment. I remember when I was crumpeted, years ago. Now I would be lucky to get a single peanut. I haven't had a swedish fish in centuries.

Schwinnie keeps growing her feet out really long. The farmer has started keeping a chart, it is very aggravating, her feet grow twice as fast as anybody else's.

"Why are you doing that Schwinnie?" the farmer asked point blank. Schwinnie did not say anything, just jumped up on the stand and starting wolfing down oats while her feet got trimmed AGAIN.

Gee I wonder why she is doing that, I am going to start trying to grow my feet out faster.

Winnie has not kidded in three years and the farmer is determined to get her bred so when she came in heat she went in with Fred for two hours, then she came up to the barn and spent the rest of the afternoon with Jackie, then later that night Chaos came up to have a go.

Winnie was tickled pink, she spent the night in the stall with Jackie and Chaos.

Next morning the jousting was over and Winnie and Jackie had gotten married and were enjoying a blissful honeymoon. All their troubles were out of sight. Chaos was banished to the opposite corner of the stall, where tomorrow would be another day.

"May the best swimmers win!" said the farmer.

The Thanks You Get: A Christmas Story

Well it didn't start out like one of those days but things went sideways in a hurry. Crumpet was supposed to go and have her picture taken with Santa at the feed store and just at the wrong moment like always Betty came into heat. Crumpet doesn't like riding around with a lot of riffraff so it was decided she would stay home and Wendell would go instead and have his picture taken even though he is not as photogenic but it would be better than nothing. Wendell got into his Yuletide turtleneck with the snowflakes on it and after capturing Betty everyone got in the truck and off they went.

Crumpet stood at the gate and whinnied with hamster indignation. Betty glared at the world from the back of the truck. She was furious, she thought they must be on the way to some kind of ungodly winter fair.

I forgot to mention that Betty was going to see the Tiny Giant over at the drive-through buck service. The Tiny Giant is one of the handsomest bucks in the world and that is saying something because it is a big world. He is known for his magnificent hair and his lordly demeanor. Not to mention his blue eyes, his wattles, his dalmatian spots, his impeccable buckly manners. He is my half-removed cousin so it isn't that surprising. Anyway off they went.

The farmer stopped to get two coffees and two raspberry scones. Wendell pretended to be asleep, even going so far as to emit some ghastly sleeping-dog farts that caused the farmer to roll down the window even though it was very chilly. They were almost there when the "check engine" light came on. The farmer started in cussing a storm.

All right they made it to the drive-through buck stand and the farmer gave the farmer from Minter Bay a scone and coffee on account of the Tiny Giant being so magnificent and after a few minutes Betty was settled without any difficulty and she got back in the truck. The two farmers were talking on the same monomaniacal topic as always: "wasn't the Tiny Giant handsome? Just look at him!"

"Tell me one thing you don't like about him," insisted the farmer from Minter Bay. "Go on just tell me one thing."

"Well," said our farmer.

"Go on, tell me one thing. Just tell me one thing," said the Minter Bay farmer.

This could have gone on for hours but just then the farmer thought, "wouldn't that scone taste good right now," and reached into the truck just in time to see the last few scone crumbs disappearing down Wendell's gullet and just then the farmer remembered "check engine" light or no they had to hurry up to the vet to get Spenny's arthritis medicine before they closed at  noon or Spenny would be sore all weekend. And so they peeled out to go get the medicine and got there just in the nick of time and when the farmer came out from the vet the farmer gave Wendell the evil eye for eating the scone because the scone had not been addressed.

"We are not getting any Santa photos today Wendell, do you know why?"

Wendell wisely did not say anything.

"Because the check engine light is on and I do not want to break down on the freeway with a bad dog and a doe in heat."

Wendell assumed a noncommittal pose. "I see," said his expression.

"Is this the thanks I get?" the farmer asked. "Who drove you to the hospital when you got run over by a truck? And who drove you to the hospital when you get bit in the eyeball? Who rescued you from the horse attack?"

Wendell bugged his eyes out. He could not stand the suspense.

"And this is the thanks I get?"

Wendell did his look of supreme devotion which he always does in the face of disaster and he started shivering for effect.

"Fine," said the farmer. "Don't even look at me all the way home."

And they rode halfway home in silence without any Santa picture and the check engine light on and Betty glaring in the back and Wendell shivering in the front but halfway home some Christmas songs came on the radio and so they sang the rest of the way.

Anyway in case you were wondering the answer is yes. This is the thanks you get.

Crumpet's Piano Lesson

Maybe we will try the harmonica...

Never Mind, I'll Find Someone Like Crumpet

Crumpet is small and cute but that is not enough. If you are reading this and you are small and cute and you think that is enough, you are wrong.

If you are thinking, "well, I am small and cute and I am also from Oregon," please believe me when I tell you that that is not enough either and so is Crumpet by the way.

Crumpet needs to develop a skill since she is too small to be a real dairy goat. She can't be bred so she can't be milked so she is going to need some vocational training because everyone needs the satisfaction of making their way in the world unless they don't make it but that happens sometimes and it's no excuse for idling your life away.

Anyway it has been decided that Crumpet will learn to play the piano.

Why the piano? You are probably asking. Well, she is too short for the cello.

Ok, that makes sense. But what song will she learn to play?

Probably something by Adele.

Why? you are probably asking. Why not Pachalbel's Canon, so she could play at weddings? Or 'We've Only Just Begun' by the Carpenters?

Well if she learns an Adele song everyone will already be crying as she plays. But still they will be pleased, and they can tell their friends, "I just saw a little goat playing 'Someone Like You' on the piano. You don't see that every day."

We don't expect her to end up at Carnegie Hall or anything. You have to be realistic.

The Rat Race

Every morning begins with the Breakfast Olympics.

Apres Moldy le Déluge

It is raining right now but to say that it is raining doesn't really convey the watery reality of what we are experiencing. Every ten minutes or so we get a day's worth of rain, probably one of the record dry days that we had this summer which toward the end made Moldy say, "I am tired of all this sunshine I don't care if it rains all winter long."

So it is Moldy's fault.

Don't worry we will punish her but really it is a kind of no-fault rain that only happens here. It doesn't happen every year but when it does it really does. It is now. It is raining a humbling rain, great sweeps of it thrumming across the meadow. The cottage roof is leaking into a collection of saucepans spread about the bedroom and living room. The gutters are dripping over their sides. Lost Beaver Lake is almost full. The barnyard is a mud pit. There is thunder in the distance. Even Willen went into his run-in, and he is gazing blankly out at the rain, ever so slightly taken aback. It takes a lot to take Willen aback. He doesn't usually go aback.

Bumbles is crying, she got trapped outside. I might let her in later, but I would have to get up and push the door open, and that seems like a lot of trouble. The wind slammed it shut.

It is Tom Robbins rain. It has no plans to stop. I know we mentioned it before, but here it is again, still worth mentioning, since it is the main feature of our life right now. We are waiting, as we always do, for a miracle. We are waiting quietly. There is a hush.

Except for Bumbles.

"The rains will steal down from the Sasquatch slopes. They will rise with the geese from the marshes and sloughs. Rain will fall in sweeps, it will fall in drones, it will fall in cascades of cheap Zen jewelry...And it will rain a fever. Mossy-haired lunatics will roam the dripping peninsulas. Moisture will gleam on the beak of the Raven...Rain will eat the old warpaths, spill the huckleberries, cause toadstools to rise like loaves...And it will rain a miracle..." ~~~~~~ Tom Robbins

VCP

Hello this is Millie and my vacation is over because I got tired of waiting for Belle Starr to update the blog. She was too busy watching Xie Xie. Xie Xie is a funny one she likes to watch maple leaves fall from the big maple tree and she picks out a certain exact one that she wants to eat and once it comes off the tree she starts running a dizzying zigzag, head back like a centerfielder, as it swirls down to the ground. Because she wants THAT ONE and not one of the ten million other ones. So Belle Starr, who is a lot smarter than Xie Xie, uses Xie Xie as both a leaf selector - she does have good taste in leaves - and a leaf alarm. She naps with one eye open but then when she sees Xie Xie making the final approach to the premium leaf, she swoops in and takes it. This is pretty much a full-time job.

Vaya con Dios, Juniper Breeze

And the blog really needed updating. Because we lost Breezy. She got very sick at the end, so it was a blessing and a mercy that she went. She will never be forgotten; she was one of the Mayflower goats. She came over from Eastern Washington with Baby Belle, and Penrose, and Snow Pea. Breezy always had good timing: she left the day before the first hard frost, right after we finished the last of the apples. Breezy was the second oldest goat here, after Brandy, who is 13, and in honor of Breezy it has been decided that we will not call Brandy an Old Bag any more, from now on she will be referred to as a Vintage Coach Purse, which is much more respectful.

By this simple device we have undone the partisan gridlock of the front pasture and ushered in a new era of courtesy. That is called working across the aisle. Try it yourself if you have time.

She is still an Old Bag, but we just have a new name for it.

In other news Chance went to a new home and he left this afternoon on the first boat for Carnation and Moldy is in an uproar. Or she was, anyway, until the alfalfa came out. Now she is asleep. If you want to be in an uproar, you really have to be awake. So don't eat too much if you are planning an uproar.

Crumpet has not grown at all since she was born and she is now officially the tiniest goat in the world. But in the new era of courtesy we will have to think of something nice to call her instead of The Hamster. Something courteous like VCP.

I suggested The Ruminating Rodent, but that was vetoed, like most of my great ideas.

Quelle surprise.

If Not For You

What happened was it turned to winter all in one day. The leaves fell off the trees and the rain started pouring down. The sun shut off - click! - just like that. This was very depressing.

Then the next day the farmer came out at dinnertime and called the herd weak-mindedly. "BETSY!"

Everybody looked around. Betsy? Is Betsy here?

The farmer looked grim.

Then Lori came over and Lori trundled about in the usual fashion knocking things over and misplacing things and showering everyone with cookies and candy but looking rather gloomy and in the end Lori said to no one in particular, "you know I can get used to a lot of things but I just can't get used to not seeing Penrose."

The farmer turned away.

One of the farmer's friends arrived in the middle of a downpour and looked at Sky Blue and at me, we were standing next to each other in the pasture. "It's funny," she said absently, "they both look just like Hannah Belle."

"Mmm," said the farmer, and changed the subject.

Well what are you going to do. Are you going to clomp around with your head down pretending Betsy never lived here?  Are you going to never mention Penrose again? Penrose? The patron saint of bummers and orphans? Really?

Are you going to frogmarch into the future as if my mother Hannah Belle possibly the finest or at least the second finest Nigerian Dwarf goat to ever walk the earth NEVER EVEN EXISTED????

Well I will tell you one thing, I am not. I am going to keep on living and remembering my absent friends and relatives and I suggest you do the same because what is the other choice anyway and as far as the winter and the rain and the leaves falling off the trees I am only one and a half years old but I can tell you for a certain fact that it happens every year and you better just GET OVER IT!!!

ALL OF EVERYTHING I JUST TOLD YOU AND PLENTY MORE JUST GET OVER IT!!!!

If not for me this whole place would go to rack and ruin. And the same is true of you. Whoever you are. Wherever you live. So get over it, whatever it is you can't get over. Just get over it.

Table For One

Here is what the herd does every morning, my half of the herd anyway.

It sits around waiting for the farmer to come out.

"Where is the food where is the food where is THE FOOD!" Moldy starts wailing as soon as the sun comes up.

Then the farmer finally comes out and the herd mills and grumbles and shoves against the door so the farmer sometimes practically can't even get the door open to let the herd out.

"I need food where is the food I'M STARVING!" wails Moldy.

"That's my FOOT you're standing on MY FOOT!" screams Winjay.

Wronny t-bones Winjay.

"WHERE IS THE FOOD!" screams Moldy.

"MAMA!" screams Chancy.

"MAMA!" screams Moony.

This wakes Pinky up. "What?" mumbles Pinky. "Is it my birthday again?"

The farmer opens the door and the herd pours out into the front pasture like water pouring out of a giant pitcher, a pitcher full of hungry goats, and then the herd runs back and forth among the three different feed stations, each one seeming to have better food than the others until they see it up close and realize that it is just the same, in fact the previous feed station actually had better food, maybe not better tasting but the presentation was better, there was just something about it, so let's go back there away from Winjay instead of staying here, and there is a great swirling of giant terrestrial four-legged locusts as everyone decides where to eat.

Well that is a little ridiculous so I don't do it.

"Please," I say," after you," and I stand aside as the whole herd goes gurgling out into the pasture and then I walk up to the farmer directly and I indicate with my pleasing demeanor that I wouldn't be against a small bowl of cereal if it isn't too much trouble. Just here in the barn aisle is fine, and I don't mind eating out of the bucket, I don't want to make any trouble. Isn't it a lovely day? My goodness, I love the fall colors.

And then when I have finished eating all I want I indicate to the farmer that I don't mind joining the ordinary goats who are still - some of them anyway - running around screaming in the front pasture.

I'm not saying my way is better. But that's just how I do it.

Not Without My Sister

All the goats that went to the fair caught a cold. Including me. That happens every year.

Moony is sick and also disappointed because she found out she was at a Fair and now she wants to go back.

"The food was much better there."

This is true, at the fair we got free alfalfa and free orchard grass. Not the affordable kind either.

Bumbles' little daughter Crumbles caught the Fair Flu and she has a bad case of sniffles and when everyone got turned out yesterday morning she stayed in for special treatment and bed rest. She slept all day.

About halfway through the day the farmer started running all over looking for Creampuff, Crumbles' twin.

The neighbor's calves tore a hole out of the bottom of our fat girl fence and the farmer was worried that Creampuff had wandered out into the meadow and been eaten by a coyote, since the coyotes are in full howling mode now even though the weather here remains mysteriously perfect and August-like without a drop of rain and not even very cold but that is another story. Anyway no one could find Creampuff.

"I am going to give Crumbles a vitamin B shot and then I am going to go down in the meadow," the farmer announced. And do what? I wondered. But I didn't say anything.

The farmer had forgotten that Creampuff is not a Nubian and she can go wherever she wants, it doesn't matter if there is a gate or a fence in the way. She had snuck back into the barn and was cuddled up with Crumbles, sleeping.

"Oh," said the farmer. "there you are."

Now Creampuff has the sniffles too.

Millie's Vacation. Day One.

What happened was Millie got tired of the blog.

This blog is weighing me down. is what she said. everything that happens I am supposed to put something in the blog about it. oh look Wendell threw up. Breaking blog news. goodness there is a flat tire on the tractor. call the blog. Everyone caught a cold from the fair and all the noses are running wild. There is a river of snot. blog gold.

ok so Winjay said I will do the blog if you do not want to do it.

No way said Millie it is not a LaMancha blog.

ok said Wronny I am the herdqueen and someone has to do the blog. If Millie is not going to do the blog then Winjay can do it.

Winjay t-boned Crumpet in celebration.

ok said Wronny to Winjay you are fired from the blog. Millie, you do the blog.

I am tired of the blog said Millie. I need a vacation.

ok said Wronny then pick someone else to do it while you are on vacation and do it now or I will t-bone you.

ok said Millie. I pick Belle Starr.

The Bus Stops Here

Well the goats got back from the Fair and it was an unmitigated display of mediocrity with no blue ribbons at all whatsoever anywhere, in fact two goats came in last, and Moony did not even know she was at a Fair she thought she was waiting for a bus.

"A bus to oblivion," said Maddy drily when the defeated and the bedraggled came tumbling out of the back of the truck.

As far as the LaManchas that was a complete disaster and the recorded grades did not do much better and when it came time for the Nigerians, all Clover and Belle Starr could muster was third place. They were in big classes so it might have seemed good except for the fact that when you are standing in third place there are two goats in front of you and that doesn't usually sit very well especially not with those in the Baby Belle family.

Clover is in the Baby Belle family but she didn't care because all she could think about was the milk she wasn't drinking because it was back at home in Betty's udder.

"Third place, eighth place, fifteenth place, who cares. Where is the milk?"

The farmer's friend tried to take a jolly tone as people always do in the face of an unmitigated disaster and she said brightly, "well, third place is good in a big class like that! I would be pleased with that."

"Yes of course," echoed the farmer. "Very pleased. So many lovely goats."

Then the dairy goat show was over as abruptly as it had begun and everyone scurried around packing and loading and before they knew what was happening all the Fair goats were stuffed back into the truck and off they went headed back home and in unison they breathed a big sigh of relief and lay down on the thick carpet of straw.

But while all the other goats snoozed, Belle Starr stood up and gazed out the back window of the canopy. The truck wheeled slowly out of the fairgrounds, parting the sea of humanity clustered around Pete's Barbecue Pit,  nosing gently around the strolling Peruvian marimba band, passing the Kubota tractor display, turning the corner behind the horse arena out toward the service gate.

"As God is my witness," Belle Starr vowed bitterly, " I will never come in third place again."

They got a little further down the road and Moony accidentally woke up.

"Does anyone know when the bus is coming?" asked Moony. "Because we have been waiting a long time."

The Overfed vs. The Underappreciated

The middling goats will be off to the Fair tomorrow so the farmer has been busy trying to find all the things that should have been collected tidily in one place about a month ago and the fixing of the haircuts began and then sputtered out because the trailer lights stopped working just when needed most  and the latch on the escape door popped and now it is starting to look like everyone is just going to have to cram into the truck instead which is one of many reasons why I never go to the Fair but Pebbles the Jumbo Jet has been looking wistful and recalling her five minutes of Fair Fame and wondering why she hasn't been chosen this year, it doesn't seem - no pun intended - fair.

After all, she is the Bitter Pill. She thinks people will be coming back to the fair just to see her, and a lot of them will want their money back when they realize she isn't there. Which goes to show how strained her relationship with reality has become.

Maddy the Sheriff of Crazytown just came out and told it like it is - "look, Pebbles, it isn't a whale show. When they have a whale show, you will be the first one picked. "

Anyway there was so much going on I thought it would be a good idea to make a hole in the fence and run amuck with some of my underlings so we did that and started a brawl with the milkers and there was a lot of rhetorical questions hurled about by the farmer when the hole was discovered, including, "Do you think this is funny? Do you think I have nothing better to do than fix this fence? Would you look a good walloping?"

And so on while we loaded up on free apples and ate the milkers' hay and enjoyed a refreshing round of goat rugby with The Overfed, making up for what we lacked in blubber with enthusiasm and esprit de corps.

Viva la Revolucion, Baby!

Complaints from the Dust Bowl

The beautiful weather has been dragging on continuously with 48 days without rain. That's fine and everything, I guess the sunshine is ok, but after a while it hurts your eyes. Crumpet's head is about four inches from the ground and it is so dry she is constantly getting dust in her little eyeballs and the farmer's idea of spraying water around the gate to hold the dust down is a real stroke of genius and it helps for about three minutes in the morning. I hope Crumpet doesn't go blind but if she does there will be a Kickstarter campaign to raise money for an eyeball transplant so prepare yourself for that because you will need to chip in if it happens. Anyway it is supposed to rain on Monday and right now we are looking forward to going back to complaining about rain instead of dust.

Also one more note on the beautiful weather I find it monotonous. If I were making up a schedule it would go like this: 2 beautiful days followed by one rainy day followed by a beautiful day followed by a cloudy day with showers at night (when I am in the cabana) followed by a beautiful day but a little bit chilly followed by one of those days where it doesn't really rain but it sort of mists and people say "is it raining? is it starting to rain? did you just feel something?" and there is patchy morning fog all day long. And then repeat. The temperature range would be very flexible, I do not want to seem controlling, anywhere from 55-75 would be fine. The chilly day could go as low as 48.

The haircuts on the middling fair hostages all look terrible. Supposedly that is going to be 'fixed' today. Great, if there is anything worse than a bad haircut it is a fixed haircut. If you ever get a really bad haircut and someone says, "don't worry, I can fix that," just run as fast as you can, especially if they have a pair of Oster A5 clippers in their hand.

Since she has been in with the milkers Winjay has been steadily getting crazier and right now it is a dead heat between Maddy and Winjay as to which one has the most screws loose. There is definitely a metallic rattle when they walk around. Big Orange has pretty much dropped out of the running, there is no way she will be re-elected in November.

The latest on Winjay: all the milkers get special extra fancy delicious grain because they are so important. Everyone else gets a few sprinkles of plain cob or all-stock or something like that. We watch the milkers eating with tears in our eyes.

Anyway Winjay won't eat the delicious grain, she throws it out of the dish onto the floor and stamps until she gets cheap grain.

Crazytown.

Don't Come in Eighth

There was a blue moon and nothing happened.

We thought something might happen but nothing did.

The list of volunteers to go to the Fair and sit around looking middling includes:

Belle Starr (Little Belle)
Betty's Blue Clover (Clover)
Can of Worms (Candy)
Crescent Moon (Moony)
Chocolate Martini (Marti)
Creme de Cassis (Cassis)
Maple Hollow (Rosie)

These goats have all been selected for no other reason than that they are agreeable and friendly. Except Rosie, she is disagreeable and unfriendly, but we need her for groups. Also Cassis is not the friendliest, and she looks a little better than middling. But we are bringing her anyway.

The downside of middling is that you look middling. The upside is there is no pressure. This way they can sit around and relax. Anyway you have to adjust your expectations to reality. It is no use these goats walking around thinking they are fabulous-looking like me when the plain middling not-too-bad truth is right there for everyone to see.

We are not taking any milkers because we need the milk at home. At the Fair you have to throw all your milk away. You would cry if you saw all that beautiful milk going right down the drain.

I feel bad for Candy and Moony though because they will have to show in the LaManchas and the best LaManchas in the country will be there and a lot of them but their only mantra is 'don't come in eighth'  because the premiums stop at seventh place. Also they will be the smallest ones in their class because they were born late. Two strikes. Also they are known to be from a slow-maturing line with fabulous udders, the kind that starts to look good when they are about three. How many strikes is that?

On the plus side they are in the same class so only one of them can come in last.

Join us in rooting for Candy and Moony with this rousing Herron Hill cheer: come in last if you have to, but don't come in eighth!

Fair to Middling

It is time for the Fair and everyone here is looking middling. No one looks spectacular. Who wants to go to the Fair and sit around looking middling. That is a lot of work for nothing. Red ribbons, who needs them.

Pinky and Xie Xie both look good but they are too thin, they milked down too far. So did Abby. Pinky Jr. is a big strapping girl and she looks good, but that's because she doesn't have enough milk. Blue and Betty might be fairly presentable if they bagged up for about a week. Maddy has at least one screw loose and certainly can't go anywhere near the general public. Moldy is too fat. Clover is too fat. Speaking of Clover, Pebbles looks like the Sta-Puf Marshmallow Goat.

Winjay looks fantastic except her udder sticks out the back about four feet, like a second grader drew her. If she were a drawing the title would be: "Earless Goat Walks Bravely Into Hurricane, Udder Sails Out Behind Her."

That's a long title but it's best if people know what they're looking at.

"You are doing that on purpose," the farmer says grimly every time Winjay walks by with her windblown udder.

Marty is going into an awkward phase, Crayola can't go or Crumpet either, they are too precious and would certainly catch something. Fabulous last place Wronny is even older and more stove in than she was the last time she went to the Fair and got last place.

So you would think we might stay home. Wouldn't you?

Hannah Belle 2.0

Yesterday some of the unfortunates got shaved for the Fair. It is surprising what is under there sometimes. Fat little Clover actually looks fairly presentable. Candy and Moony are cute as 2 buttons.

Nobody mentioned anything about it, but everybody thought the same thing when Belle Starr went under the clippers.

My goodness. Isn't it uncanny. She's the spitting image.