Hello

Hello everyone. My mother Baby Belle is feeling sick today so i am writng her blog. She had some vitamins and pine needles and some elcrtoltytes so i think she will fel better soon. she is wlking in the front pastuer with the two nitwit nubian crossesa and one lamancha baby. catching some sun rays. ok.

on another topic ploease if you have a chance please send my some cookies. i am very hungry. It is not true what yoiu have herd that I am too fat. I am like a skeleton. send vanilla wafers or maybe some licoricewips. or i would even eat alfalfa anytihng owuld be better than this gfrass hay.

thanks ina dvance. xxxooo. hannah belle.

Scout

 
 

Scouty is our Goat of the Day.

She is a 2-year-old purebred Nubian and she has had 4 children, three boys (Teddy, Roosevelt, and Marty) and one girl (little Martina).

Scouty is a good milker and has learned (the hard way) to appreciate the many benefits of cooperation. She is one of triplets; she has a sister named Boo and a brother named Gem. She is the daughter of Marty (aka Wall St Maureen) and Sunset Pines Magic Wish, who goes back to the 1992 Reserve National Champion, Trillium Trails Carmel Corn. For those who may care, Carmel Corn was a beautiful brown-spotted doe, a 9-star milker (nine generations of star milkers), and LA 93, which is the highest score a goat has ever gotten on linear appraisal.

Likes: Scouty is an avid vegetarian and enjoys all types of food, especially peanut butter cookies, stale bread, corncobs, apples, pears, leaves, sprigs, twigs, bark and needles, and of course banana peels (watch your fingers.)

Dislikes: Scouty hates rain and changes to the schedule.

Congratulations to Scouty. 

What Really Happened

Betsy has been telling everyone how good she was at the fair but I heard the farmer telling the neighbor what she really did. First of all the farmer has to dress all in white to show the goats, which according to the farmer is not a good color even though it looks very beautiful on me. So what did Betsy do while she was waiting at ringside to go in the ring, as soon as it was too late for the farmer to change into the extra whites?

She jumped up and put two hoofprints right in the middle of the farmer's shirt. Then while the farmer was trying to brush the dirt off, she jumped up again and put two hoofprints on the farmer's pants. Then while the farmer was trying to brush that dirt off, she grabbed the paper show number pinned to the farmer's shirt and started eating it.

"She's eating your number," one of the spectators kindly pointed out to the farmer. While the farmer grabbed the first half of the number out of Betsy's mouth, she ate the second half.

Then it was time to go into the ring. In the ring, with no number and covered with hoofprints, the farmer thought Betsy would do very well because she had been practicing show-walking at home.

No indeed. Betsy bucked and pranced. While all the other goats were standing politely and chewing their cud, Betsy performed a triple toe loop, followed by the famous "flying swordfish" maneuver, followed by a festive, folk-inflected Lord-of-the-Dance jig.

"You are such a bad girl," the farmer was telling Betsy, just as the judge came up behind them unexpectedly.

"Yes she is," the judge agreed.

But she won the blue ribbon anyway.

Blue Ribbon Betsy

Betsy (aka Stacy's Starlight) and Wronny (aka Wrong Number) just got home from the big state fair. They are acting very conceited because they both won money. Betsy won a blue ribbon and made it to the final where they choose the champion. She was also on the front page of the Tacoma newspaper with this photo, showing off her good looks. The judge commended Betsy for her stature, her length of body, and her dairy character. Betsy does not even know what dairy character is. Or any other character. How ridiculous.

Wronny is preening all around because she won seventh place. SEVENTH PLACE! Since when do they have that many places? If I came in seventh I wouldn't even want anyone to know, and here she is flouncing all over the place like Cleopatra on a party boat on the Nile. It's sad, really.

Oh well, anyway, they both think they are all that. Stacy, wherever you are, guess what? Your silly little daughter won first place!

Look Up!

Here is some free advice from me, for what it's worth.

It is easy to get very absorbed in what you are doing. It seems important. Believe me, I know.

But sometimes it is a good idea to stop and look up.

Look up: you can see the birds. Look up: you can see the stars. Look up: you can see the future coming right at you.

Look up.

My New Boyfriend

Captain January 

Enough about Wendell, here is a subject anyone could get interested in. I like my old boyfriend, Marquee, a lot, but let's face it he's no spring chicken and even if he were, a little variety does a body good. So anyway, I was pretty pleased when the farmer brought little CJ home. He's from a lovely family, for one thing, and I think you would be pretty hard pressed to find a cuter little gentleman anywhere.

Strolling, With Staples

Wendell, walking. 

The farmer is all excited because Wendell the pest can walk. Big deal, I have been walking since I was about five minutes old. Nobody takes pictures of me just because I get up and walk to my food dish. Who cares.

Some Photos from our Scrapbook

which way to the barn? 

Mo cannot believe how delicious the camera looks. 

spenny enjoys a beautiful summer day 

sugarbutton says "looks like rain." 

synchronized snoozing: Laddy and Willen on a good hair day. 

Fair Enough?

Project Runway has begun.

The three sisters Betsy, Bertie, and Wronny (half-sisters, really) are going to the big state fair, so they had to get fair haircuts and collars. Now they are learning to walk in a fair-approved manner.

Betsy is so far getting an A+ in walking and general deportment. She will walk anywhere. More importantly, she will stop walking when you stop walking. This is one of the keys, if not the key, to civilized walking in pair formation.

Not satisfied with an A+, Betsy also comes immediately when she is called, and cleans the floor of the barn every evening, checking thoroughly in every nook and cranny for spilled grain. (Update: actually, Betsy's grade has been changed to an A++, because she likes being clipped with the big horse clippers.)

Wronny is getting a C. She will walk, reluctantly, with much tugging. Stopping is her strong point. She is always willing to stop, and checks frequently to see if you, too, might perhaps be interested in stopping dead in your tracks. Shall we stop? Shall we stop? I have an idea, why don't we stop? Let's stop, shall we? Should we stop here? What about here?

Bertie is getting an F-. Bertie alternates between absolute refusal to walk and full-out gallop punctuated by frequent 180 degree turns, grand jetes a la Baryshnikov, and abrupt - but momentary - stops. If she were a horse, she would make champion bucking stock. Her unique style of "walking" is enlivened by such screaming as would wake the dead. I wonder where she gets it? Possibly from her mother Boo?

Bye Bye Babies

It was a long season, but all the babies have finally gone to their new homes.

Where did they go?

Marty and Martina went to Shaw Island in the San Juans.

Barnaby and Roosevelt went to a farm in Vaughn that raises Shire horses.

Harper Lee went to Carney Lake, where she is ruling the roost.

Herman, Pilgrim, and Ricky went to Seabeck. Tinky, my yearling daughter, went with them.

Moony and Betsy went to Duvall.

Franky and Joey, Barry and Whitman, and the two best babies of the year - my adorable sons Huckleberry and Barbaro - went home with some nice people from Port Orchard.

You might think that leaves us lonely. But no, because Lolo, Willa, Wronny, Cammy, and Wrusty - so full of himself already - are staying here.

Well, ok, we are a little bit lonely.

Bye bye, babies.

Remember who you are. Remember where you came from.

The Book of Wendell

Chapter One: Some people near Seattle bought Wendell on the Internet from a breeder in the South. When he came in his little crate they took one look at him and apparently didn't like what they saw. The next day they called the local boston terrier rescue to come and pick him up.

Chapter Two: The rescue lady called the farmer and asked if the farmer would take a puppy that was not housebroken.

Chapter Three: Wendell came to the farm. For almost a week, he pretended to be the sweetest puppy on Earth. He laid around in the farmer's arms in a very cheesy manner, looking up with an expression of kindness, obedience, docility, deep devotion. The farmer began saying things like: how lucky we are to find Wendell! what a sweet puppy! What could he possibly have done to get kicked out of a house in one day?

Chapter Four: True Wendell began to emerge. Several pairs of shoes (not the cheap ones, they were left alone) were eaten. Holes were dug under the fence. Goats were chased, until Winnie took matters into her own hands and t-boned Wendell definitively. This sent him rolling down the hill, curled in a festive little soccer ball shape, to the gratification of all of us in the lower pasture. A round of goat applause went up from the crowd at the fenceline.

A familiar sound began to be heard many times a day. This was the word "WENDELL!" yelled by the farmer in a tone of uncontrollable fury. One day Wendell ate the farmer's cellphone. This was the darkest day yet; the farmer simply said, "Wendell," without yelling at all, but in a tone of deep disappointment. Wendell hung his head.

Chapter Five: Wendell started to be good again, little by little. He was a year old by now, after all. He stopped - for the most part - eating shoes. Sometimes, when he was called, he would actually come.

Chapter Six: The Hay Lady came over. As usual, she came unannounced and unexpected. The Hay Lady has what the public health nurses like to call some "social deficits." When she comes over, the first thing she always does is take out a pack of cigarettes and start smoking in the barn.

"There's no smoking in the barn," the farmer always says, right away, and the Hay Lady blinks at the farmer, baffled that anyone anywhere would have a rule against smoking in a bone-dry douglas fir structure, filled with hay and straw and live animals who cannot open their stall doors (well, I can, but that's another story) should they need to leave in case of emergency.

"Good grief," the farmer always says, after the Hay Lady leaves. The Hay Lady has nothing going for her, except for the fact that she has nice, good, clean hay. And it's cheap. Actually, that's quite a lot.

The Hay Lady has a habit of bombing up the driveway, as if she is starring in a Ford truck commercial - you know the ones I mean, where some guy in a t-shirt goes blazing down a dirt road that runs between two cornfields in an F-150 with dust billowing behind him while country music plays.

Except the Hay Lady has an F-250, a jumbo one, for hauling her trailers and tractors around.

On this day she came bombing up the driveway, looking neither left nor right. Nor front. Wendell was outside by the back door, taking a break from tormenting the border collies. The Hay Lady ran right over Wendell.

The farmer heard Wendell crying - that horrible crying that you will never forget if you have ever seen a dog hit by a car - and ran outside. Wendell couldn't use his back legs, but he dragged himself to the farmer using his front paws.

The farmer picked Wendell up and put him into the car and drove him right to the emergency vet. He did not cry or whimper once on the way, just lay gazing at the farmer with deep devotion.

At the vet, he did not cry or whimper when the vet moved his legs around to see if she could find any obvious fractures. Instead, he looked at the farmer with deep devotion and a strange calm. The vet thought perhaps there were no fractures, since Wendell never flinched or cried out in pain. The x-rays would show.

The x-rays came back in a few minutes. Wendell's pelvis was fractured in at least four places. His bladder and kidneys were bruised; blood was pooling in his abdomen. Both hips were broken; one was shattered, with the head of the femur displaced.

"I can't believe he never cried," said the vet, looking at Wendell. Wendell was looking at the farmer, shaking a little bit, but still surreally calm. And with an expression of deep devotion.

Wendell would have to be put down unless an operation was performed to put his pelvis back together. A very expensive procedure. Without it, the vet explained, he would be in pain for the rest of his life, with bone rubbing on bone in several places. The operation would have to be performed in the city, 70 miles away, by a board-certified othopedic surgeon. Again, just to clarify, it would be very expensive.

Back at home, there was a message on the answering machine from the Hay Lady. "Sorry about the dog thing," she said. "Do you still want some hay?"

"His name is Wendell," the farmer said, to the answering machine.

Chapter Seven: Wendell went to the big city for his million-dollar surgery. For almost a week after, he pretended to be the sweetest puppy on Earth.

Wendell. 

Barbaro

The farmer was shocked this morning when we heard on the news that Barbaro has laminitis. Not our Barbaro, of course - he is hopping around like a bee in a bottle - but the "real" Barbaro. We wish Big Barbaro the best. And we wish we didn't have this bad bad feeling.

Good luck, Barbaro.

Family Portrait... 

My Sons.