G-O-T-Y Poll

Ok, you can vote for Goat of the Year on my web page now.

Day 4

Day 4...No power..and it's not coming soon.

We are keeping our spirits up pretty well...but it would help if we had some SWEDISH FISH or some GINGER SNAPS.

All the babies are coming in with us today as the creek-drinking jamboree begins...

Even the fat ponies are coming down here. Oy. They have no sense of decorum. The concept of waiting in line has never occurred to them.

Yes we are accepting votes for Goat-of-the-Year. Please do not forget. Vote by email or however, I am not a computer programmer so I cannot tell you how. The farmer says there will be a voting button soon but I sincerely doubt it.

Goat of the Year Part Two

Well, it is day three and there is still no power so we are going to be turned out in the lower pasture so we can drink from the pond. That's because the well pump doesn't work without electricity even though we have a generator because there is no transfer switch for it. I don't know what that means but I know we have no water. So anyway, we will all go in a big goat jamboree in the down-below pasture.

Now let's get back to the Goat of the Year contest. Please direct your attention below to the candidate information statements from the contestants.

1. Cammy. Please vote for me, I am cute. Thank you. Cammy's link.

2. Breezy. Please vote for me, all my friends endorse me. Breezy's link.

3. April. Vote for who you want, I don't care. I think the whole thing is stupid. April's link.

4. Betsy. I just saw a bird! It was flying! Look! Betsy's link.

5. Scouty. What? Where am I? Scout's link.

6. Baby Belle. First of all may I say how honored I am to participate in this great system of ours. And how much I love everyone. And how seriously I will take my responsibilities, if there are any, if I am elected to this important post. Please go to my link and observe my beautiful white coat and my magnificent, perhaps even perfect, goatee, and my two wonderful sons. And so on. And in closing, thank you, thank you, thank you. I'm just trying to make a difference in this world. Humbly yours. Baby Belle. Belle's link.

The WindStorm

They always say there is going to be a big windstorm. And then a few trash can lids blow down the street and the excitement is pretty much over. Well, yesterday they said there was going to be a big windstorm, and guess what?

THERE WAS A BIG WINDSTORM.

The farmer was already grumbling because we just got the power on from not having any power for two days from the last windstorm, which wasn't a big windstorm, just an ordinary windstorm. The farmer had to carry water buckets to everybody and wasn't very happy, since it was also pouring outside.

The farmer asked Boo, "if you are so thirsty, why don't you just go outside and turn your head up?"

Boo wisely did not say anything, just waited politely for the bucket to be refilled, then drank all the water in just about one gulp so it had to be refilled again immediately.

So things were not that rosy when the day started.

After six years of power outages, the farmer finally broke down and drove to the store and bought a generator, so we knew that this time maybe they would be right about the big windstorm.

And THEY WERE. It was FIERCE.

The windstorm blew down ten BIG trees between our street and the highway, and our street is only a mile long. The power lines were down everywhere.

The farmer drove all the way into town, 14 miles, and there wasn't a stitch of electricity anywhere this side of the bridge. And there were ten trees down for every mile, and power lines in the road, and too many branches to even count. The paper says there are a million people without power. And since we are at the end of the line, we are always the last ones to get our power back on. So it will probably be several days.

And when there is no power, there is no water, because the well pump is electric.

You might think this would put the farmer in a very black mood. But you would be wrong. The farmer is very cheerful, even called the neighbors on the cell phone to chat about what a beautiful day it is today, and then mentioned, just casually in passing, how we got the very last generator in the store yesterday, about two hours before the power went out.

" The very last one," said the farmer.

Goat Of The Year

Well, it is that time of year and the nominations are in for Goat of the Year.

Here are the candidates:

1. Cammy (aka Weeping Camel). Cammy was born in the spring and as far as a I can tell she is being nominated just because she is really cute and cuddly. She is a little white-micro-Mancha. I would not vote for her, she isn't that adorable.

2. April. According to the farmer, April is nominated because she got very sick and struggled through her illness and never gave up when others might have fallen by the wayside, etc etc, but persevered through thick and thin, mostly thick. April is a crusty old bag and I would not vote for her.

3. Betsy, whose name is really Lolo, whose name is really Stacy's Starlight. Betsy is nominated because she is an orphan and because she won a blue ribbon at the big fair and got her picture on the front page of the paper. She is fine but I think her ears look funny so I wouldn't vote for her.

4. Breezy is nominated because she has had 13 kids in three years. I prefer quality over quantity, so I would not vote for Breezy. Also, she is a complainer if she doesn't get what she wants.

5. Scout. Scouty is being nominated for Goat-of-the-Year because even though she is not the smartest doe in the world she learned to stand nicely on the milkstand and has milked very well and is still milking well even though she kidded a long time ago. And she had two sweet, pretty kids. Excuse me, for this she gets nominated? Oy.

6. Baby Belle. Oh, what a surprise, that's me! I did not know I was nominated. How touching. It is an honor just to be nominated! Unfortunately I am too modest to mention all of my accomplishments including my many beautiful, sweet, friendly, productive children, my extraordinary personality, my luxurious white coat, my stupendous intellect, the exquisite goatee I have cultivated, and so many other things that would seem like bragging if I brought them up, but you surely must know what they are and how much more significant they are than the piddling so-called achievements of the other nominees! So many heartfelt thanks to everyone for considering me for Goat-of-the-Year!

The Novemberest Month

Well, last night at midnight, after our predicted snow turned to rain, this month broke the record: it was already the rainiest November ever on record, now it is the rainiest month ever, beating out December of 1933. And it will probably rain some more today.

But the funny thing was that in the weeklong break from the unending downpours, this was also just about the coldest November ever. We had temperatures well down in the teens, and up north a little bit they were in single digits, with wind chills below zero.

It was so cold that Hannah Belle, who had been paroled from the horse trailer to the previously escape-proof yearling pasture, went out of heat, escaped from the yearling pasture (we still don't know how) and ran up to the barn, where she stood demurely waiting outside the baby stall. She didn't break anything, eat anything, knock anything over, or do anything objectionable. She just stood waiting politely to be let IN to the baby stall, which she spends most of her time getting OUT of. If she had had a white flag, she would have been waving it.

Why? Because that's where all the babies are, and they sleep together in a big toasty baby ball, which Hannah Belle usually wants nothing to do with.

But she was ready to join the furball sauna.

Hannah Belle Gets Her Groove Back

Who doesn't want love?

For almost a year now, since the last breeding season, my daughter Hannah Belle, a former world class goat high jumper, has been pretty much strictly earthbound. Oh sure, now and then she would jump up on a cable spool. Or she'd jump up in the old apple tree. Normal type jumps, two or three or three and a half feet high.

She could hardly even be bothered to jump out of the big-girl stall, which has no upper doors, unless there was a grain party or something on the other side. She didn't jump the four foot fence, or the five foot fence, the way she used to. She didn't move magically from pasture to pasture, at will.

Now that she is almost three years old and a tad zaftig, we all thought she probably couldn't jump seriously any more. Not that she just didn't feel like it.

Well, we were wrong. Hannah Belle has come back into heat, and like Popeye with the spinach, she has her superpowers back. She jumped the four foot wall, trying to get to visit her boyfriend. So the farmer put another rail up above, at a little over five feet. It took some figuring, and some calculating - she backs up and steps off the distance, like those field goal kickers you see on tv, then does a couple of practice runs, then makes the jump - but that was no problem either.

From there she squeezes under the upper pasture gate, then goes down and jumps the lower pasture fence, then squeezes through the marsh-side fence at the bottom of the lower pasture (filled with holes courtesy of Willen the bad pony), squeezes back under the fence on the other side, and sashays up to the buck pen, where she parades nonstop in front of the bucks, driving them a little further, if that is possible at this time of year, insane.

Anyway, if you would like to reach Hannah Belle for the next couple of days this is her address:

Hannah Belle Lecter
inside the Logan Horse Trailer
c/o Herron Hill Dairy Goats
Home, Washington

Holy Hip Boots!

We have seen a lot of rain but the rain we got this week this was really something. November is the wettest month of the year here, and averages 5.9 inches of rainfall. That's for the whole month. On Sunday alone we got seven inches, and then three more on Monday. Down in Shelton, about half an hour away, they got 12 inches in a single 24 hour period. I am not a meteorologist, but I can tell you for sure that when you get 12 inches of rain in a day, it's pretty soggy.

The farmer was engaging in some colorful vernacular, because water was coming into the barn and a trench had to be dug to get it to run out. The farmer asked if any of us would care to help with the digging of the trench, since we are the ones who live in the barn. But I believe that was what is known as a rhetorical question. Anyway, I pretended not to hear just in case.

And since it was a pineapple express, it was warm, too, which made everyone feel like they were in a really unpleasant sauna. Some flies who thought it was next year already prematurely woke up and staggered around the place drunkenly.

The Department of Bad Ideas

Well guess what, Willen the bad pony went to the pony academy and he has learned to pull a cart, as you can see, and looks very fetching in his cart-pulling outfit, or whatever it is called.

That's all well and good, I do not oppose ponies pulling things around or letting people sit on them, or jumping over little fences, or chasing foxes around the countryside. I wouldn't do it myself, but for ponies it is fine. After all, what else do they have to do? It's not as if they spend any time writing poems or thinking about the world's problems, like I do.

But anyway I heard the farmer going on about what a pony genius Willen is, and how cute he is with his cart, and wouldn't it be adorable to have a goat that could pull a little cart too. Wouldn't that just be the ticket.

Well, of course when I heard that I sidled away as best I could, and pretended not to hear anything, but then the farmer went on, saying, "of course it would have to be one of the smart ones," which sounded kind of ominous, because you know that means the Nubians won't be eligible, and Penrose the Toggenburg is not exactly working on her PhD either.

I felt hopeful, though, still, because after all the LaManchas are smart (if you like that kind of 'smart') and they're big, too, some of them actually look like Shetland ponies. But then I heard the farmer say, "and it would have to be one with a good personality," which closes the door on that group.

In fact, it pretty much left me and my daughter Hannah Belle staring at each other, since she has inherited my excellent mind and my outstanding personality along with several other remarkable qualities, including extraordinary good looks and unwarranted humility, as I have mentioned before.

And then the farmer said, "and I would want it be one with a nice beard."

And Hannah Belle kind of chuckled, because in the beard department, she has about as much going on as a beach ball.

Great.

Wendell Van Gogh

Sadly, many of the most gifted and visionary artists the world has known are not appreciated in their own community. We must admit that that is the case with Wendell. After an early immature period where he worked primarily in cloth and rubber, with slippers as his favorite medium, Wendell has moved on to working in metal, glass, and mixed media. Here is his latest installation, a pair of Bartell's reading glasses that have been fully "Wendellized."

And what did his craftsmanship and attention to detail (notice the delicately chewed tip of the earpiece) earn him? Nothing but yelling and a timeout in his crate.

It's true: This world was never made for one as beautiful as Wendell.

Mabel, A Year Later....

Mabel, all grown up. 

Mabel Enters, Stage Right, Yelling

In this video, old April the crabpot (she bites my ears whenever she gets a chance) has Mabel, one of her twin doelings. You can say what you want about April but she does know how to get the babies on the ground. And also, if April is your mother, hardly anyone will bother you. Only, say, a Brandy baby or a Winnie baby would dare to steal your lunch. By the way this video will be old news to Mabel, she is a yearling now.

If you listen closely to the video you can hear April saying, "Where have you been? I have been sitting here in the dark waiting for you, young lady. You could have called. Are you listening? What's this all over you? Have you eaten? Stand up, please. Have you ever heard of a comb?"

Stop and Smell the Ragweed

 

Well good news I am feeling much better. Maybe the farmer is right and I shouldn't eat so many of those locust leaves. Anyway, Hannah Belle will not be writing my blog any more. Please report it if you see any further entries from Hannah Belle.

Today we went out in the front pasture for one of our last strolls of the season. Once the rains come back for good, we will give the front pasture back to the horses. So we gobbled as fast as we could the last of the blackberries.

Then Cammy and Mel and Willa climbed high up into the broken apple tree that fell over on its side at the top of the hill. It is ours now, there is no fence around it. The farmer says it is dead, so we can have it.

But I guess the farmer didn't notice all the apples growing on it. Even though it is lying on its side, it still has one foot in the ground. So I don't know how dead it is. But of course I would never contradict the farmer. Because the farmer knows EVERYTHING.

But anyway there is always one day when you look up and say to yourself, well, the summer is gone. And then of course you miss the summer, even though you were tired of it. It was so hot, and so dry. And the FLIES! Where did they all come from?

But oh goodness, now that it is gone, I miss it terribly. Luckily, I did stop a few times, to smell the weeds while they were knee-high. So I will have something to remember the summer by.

Goodbye Summer! I Love You! 

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.