Well, my daughter Hannah Belle as you may know used to be quite a troublemaker. In fact, she was certainly the top troublemaker at the farm for quite a while, and was voted Most Likely to Give the Farmer a Stroke with her incorrigible escape artistry. But Hannah Belle turned over a new leaf when her triplets were born in June.
Feeding and cleaning and nudging and coddling them, that's all she did. One, Goatzilla, is such a mama's boy as a result that he practically bursts into tears if he can't see her. If you left the gate open to her stall, she wouldn't leave, that's how bad it was for a while. Personally I thought it was a little smarmy. Luckily the baby, Peanut, was raised on the bottle so he is strong-minded and independent.
Well, one day last week Hannah Belle shook the cobwebs from her head and got the old sparkle back in her eye.
After three months in the milker stall without even so much as an attempted escape, she looked up and said to herself, hey, wait a minute, this wall is only five feet high!
Over she went in a blink and off to ransack the barn looking for grain, leaving cosseted little Zilla bawling in distress.
Then out to the pasture to scarf up the fallen apples. Then on to the porch to investigate a bucket that looked suspiciously capable of containing cob.
And before you know it, she was apprehended and frogmarched to the horse trailer for a punishment timeout, her first in over a year. I heard the angry yelling echoing eerily off the trailer's metal walls - it went on for hours - and my heart swelled with pride.
THAT'S MY GIRL!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Return of the Queen
Well isn't it funny.
I don't know if you remember but Brandy was always our leader. She was the herdqueen and everyone agreed she was the herdqueen, so there was no Balkanization of the herd. The herd all agreed that Brandy was the queen.
Sure, some would mutter that they would be a better queen, and if they were the queen they would do things a lot differently, and there would be more cake, and earmarks for the queen's special friends, and bread and circuses and no new taxes.
And some would say why do we always have a LaMancha queen, why shouldn't we have a Nigerian queen or possibly a miniature queen.
And some of the long-eared-bears-of-little-brain even suggested a Nubian queen, since after all the Nubians are the biggest and the loudest. But this was widely considered laughable. Even some of the Nubians themselves would laugh when they said it. At least I think they were laughing. Who knows.
Anyway, ok, I got a little off track, but Brandy was always our leader. In spite of being small, and often terribly skinny because she was such a tremendous milker, Brandy was the queen, and ruled by consensus. She was firm but fair, and she was an excellent goat trainer because she was unfailingly consistent.
Brandy would always explain that she was going to eat first and she would insist upon it and she brooked no disagreement. And if you thought you were going to get in line ahead of Brandy - which for the most part you didn't think - you knew the price you were going to pay. Expert t-boning in the ribs, followed by ear-biting (if you had ears) and an ignominous bum's rush out the door. You did not get away with queue-jumping. Ever.
But if you were polite and waited your turn, you need fear nothing from Brandy. And if you stayed out of her way, she had no quarrel with you.
This was completely the opposite of, say, Boo. In Boo's ill-fated attempt at politics, she would one day insist that she was going to eat first and fight to the death over it. The next day she would run screaming to the end of the line after a sideways look from someone else.
Brandy had an unfortunate occurrence in the spring: she lost a set of beautiful triplets and was kept in isolation for several weeks because she was under the weather, and while she was out of circulation turmoil raged in the ensuing power vacuum and finally, unbelievably, Clipper emerged as the sort-of leader, ruling completely by terror.
Clipper turned into Attila the mini-Togg. You might be dozing in the sun and chewing your cud and out of the blue she would steamroller you into the dust for no apparent reason. She went mad with power. Anyone who looked at her cross-eyed might be t-boned against a locust tree. She was a pillager through and through.
And since she was always punishing everyone randomly, there emerged an idea that you could get away with things, small crimes and misdemeanors, if only you kept one eye on her. You could quietly sneak snacks out of turn from the feeder, for example, while she was burning and sacking a village of nearby innocents. This contributed to the chaos.
Well Clipper didn't have kids this year and she was eventually moved out to the pasture of fat girls and dry yearlings, where her iron-fisted regime of seething anarchy continues. Meanwhile, up at the main barn, Brandy endured her demotion with serene dignity, never scrabbling for anything or kowtowing to anybody. Just waiting patiently.
Slowly she fattened and regained her strength, and one day a couple of weeks ago she got a certain look in her eye when Scouty came clipclopping to the door to be fed first.
And that look said, "I don't think so."
And Brandy explained to Scouty that she was going to eat first and she insisted on it. And she brooked no disagreement.
And within a couple of days the fog of amnesia lifted and everyone remembered, oh yeah, that's right, you ARE the boss of me.
And Brandy returned to her rightful throne.
And I say, after surviving the Clipperish Inquisition, Long Live the Queen.
I don't know if you remember but Brandy was always our leader. She was the herdqueen and everyone agreed she was the herdqueen, so there was no Balkanization of the herd. The herd all agreed that Brandy was the queen.
Sure, some would mutter that they would be a better queen, and if they were the queen they would do things a lot differently, and there would be more cake, and earmarks for the queen's special friends, and bread and circuses and no new taxes.
And some would say why do we always have a LaMancha queen, why shouldn't we have a Nigerian queen or possibly a miniature queen.
And some of the long-eared-bears-of-little-brain even suggested a Nubian queen, since after all the Nubians are the biggest and the loudest. But this was widely considered laughable. Even some of the Nubians themselves would laugh when they said it. At least I think they were laughing. Who knows.
Anyway, ok, I got a little off track, but Brandy was always our leader. In spite of being small, and often terribly skinny because she was such a tremendous milker, Brandy was the queen, and ruled by consensus. She was firm but fair, and she was an excellent goat trainer because she was unfailingly consistent.
Brandy would always explain that she was going to eat first and she would insist upon it and she brooked no disagreement. And if you thought you were going to get in line ahead of Brandy - which for the most part you didn't think - you knew the price you were going to pay. Expert t-boning in the ribs, followed by ear-biting (if you had ears) and an ignominous bum's rush out the door. You did not get away with queue-jumping. Ever.
But if you were polite and waited your turn, you need fear nothing from Brandy. And if you stayed out of her way, she had no quarrel with you.
This was completely the opposite of, say, Boo. In Boo's ill-fated attempt at politics, she would one day insist that she was going to eat first and fight to the death over it. The next day she would run screaming to the end of the line after a sideways look from someone else.
Brandy had an unfortunate occurrence in the spring: she lost a set of beautiful triplets and was kept in isolation for several weeks because she was under the weather, and while she was out of circulation turmoil raged in the ensuing power vacuum and finally, unbelievably, Clipper emerged as the sort-of leader, ruling completely by terror.
Clipper turned into Attila the mini-Togg. You might be dozing in the sun and chewing your cud and out of the blue she would steamroller you into the dust for no apparent reason. She went mad with power. Anyone who looked at her cross-eyed might be t-boned against a locust tree. She was a pillager through and through.
And since she was always punishing everyone randomly, there emerged an idea that you could get away with things, small crimes and misdemeanors, if only you kept one eye on her. You could quietly sneak snacks out of turn from the feeder, for example, while she was burning and sacking a village of nearby innocents. This contributed to the chaos.
Well Clipper didn't have kids this year and she was eventually moved out to the pasture of fat girls and dry yearlings, where her iron-fisted regime of seething anarchy continues. Meanwhile, up at the main barn, Brandy endured her demotion with serene dignity, never scrabbling for anything or kowtowing to anybody. Just waiting patiently.
Slowly she fattened and regained her strength, and one day a couple of weeks ago she got a certain look in her eye when Scouty came clipclopping to the door to be fed first.
And that look said, "I don't think so."
And Brandy explained to Scouty that she was going to eat first and she insisted on it. And she brooked no disagreement.
And within a couple of days the fog of amnesia lifted and everyone remembered, oh yeah, that's right, you ARE the boss of me.
And Brandy returned to her rightful throne.
And I say, after surviving the Clipperish Inquisition, Long Live the Queen.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Getting The Picture
When we took this picture we thought we knew what we were doing. This isn't always the case. But sometimes, a lot of the time, actually, you are doing something you don't know you are doing. And that isn't always a bad thing.
Anyway, this picture - we thought - was a picture of Sammy, one of our favorite bottle babies of the year. Sammy went to a very nice new home and we hear that he is doing well. The farmer was very glad when he was born, because his mother is one of the best and prettiest does and she hadn't been able to have kids for three years and the farmer was worried. So Sammy was a welcome addition, just for that reason, but on top of that he had a funny personality and was a very endearing character (obviously not as endearing as my triplets, but you have to start somewhere.)
And we thought this was a nice picture of little Sammy when we took it, and we were glad to have a nice picture of him.
But the farmer was just looking through the photos of this year's kids and stopped in surprise at this picture. In the background is our cat Julius, an orange tabby.
Julius disappeared this spring and we don't know what happened to him. But we don't think he is coming back, since he has been gone for several months now. If you look very closely, you will see him. This is the last picture we have of Julius.
Julius first belonged to the farmer's sister, but he stayed here when the farmer's sister moved to the East Coast. Julius was a very good cat, and he was also very good at being a farm cat. He was friendly and sweet and never lost his good nature even when he was having problems with runny eyes and ears, which he had his whole life and no vet could ever do anything for. Julius was well traveled and confident, a real cat's cat, and he would stray and stroll much further than our other cat, Harry, who pretty much stays right around the barn.
For a while Julius had a habit of waiting at the end of the driveway for the farmer or Lori to come home. Lori always worried that he would get run over, but he was much too smart for that. Julius also made friends around the neighborhood, and for a couple of months one time, his attendance at the farm was very spotty, and the farmer was surprised to discover that he had a side family next door - where the food must have been better - and was spending a lot of time there. But pretty soon he came back.
Anyway, we haven't seen Julius in a long time, and we hope maybe he moved somewhere with someone who thought he was their cat. That could have happened. And that would be fine.
But we do want them to know, if they are reading this, that Julius was our cat. And we will be waiting if he comes home.
Monday, August 06, 2007
The Farmer's Amazing Car
The farmer's car is a little black vw station wagon.
Lately the farmer has been driving all over. Down to Longbranch to feed and ride the horses every day because they are at summer camp while their pasture is reseeded. Up to Gig Harbor to fetch paint and supplies for the barn remodeling.
Over to Jerry's feed store in Vaughn to get grain, grain, grain for the piggish milkers.
Anyway, all the time we would see the farmer putting things in the car and never taking them out, saying things like, "I might need that."
So I knew there were a lot of things in the car but I was surprised when the farmer's friend had to drive separately from the farmer instead of riding in the station wagon - because there was only room for one person.
But anyway today the farmer took most of the things out of the station wagon - not all, don't be silly - and even I was surprised to see what was in there. It was like watching the clown car at the circus.
This is not a complete list, just a small sampling.
1. A red metal tack box that says "Elvis" - no one knows why - and contains electric sheep shears, clipper blades, clipper oil, clipper grease, fitting accoutrements for show sheep (which we don't have any of thank Goodness. If there is anything dumber than a Nubian, it is a sheep. Bless their hearts, I say).
2. A cordura breastcollar and other tack for a cheap western saddle.
3. A Buena Vista style leather saddle for a Tennessee Walker.
4. A pair of posthole diggers.
5. A can of rustoleum paint.
6. A border collie.
7. Assorted lumber, including pieces of cedar siding and a 3-foot length of treated 6x8.
8. Several bits, including a copper mouth snaffle, a Tom Thumb, and a Kimberwick. A lunging whip, a horse tack box (not the Elvis box) full of combs, brushes, hoofpicks, neatsfoot oil, fly spray, wormer.
9. A bag of green apples.
10. A cheap cordura western saddle.
11. A boston terrier.
12. Assorted paperwork needed to complete an extension-to-file 2007 income tax return.
13. A clay birdhouse.
14. A saddle pad. A plaid wool blanket. A rug. A heavy winter Carhartt jacket. A frisbee. Several dog leashes. A phone book.
15. An extra-large rubbermaid tub full of Tammy's Special Mix. (horse grain.)
16. An old iron double tree (for two horses to pull farm equipment).
17. Assorted reading material including books, newspapers, maps, magazines and flyers.
18. Sixteen charcoal gray Holland paving bricks.
"This will never happen again," the farmer said soberly, examining each item with dismay. Then the farmer got ready to go down to Longbranch.
"Well, I will definitely need these," the farmer said, and put the cheap western saddle and the horse tack box back in the station wagon.
"And probably these," and the bits went back in.
"And I wouldn't go anywhere without this," and in went the border collie, very pleased at the roomy new accommodations.
Lately the farmer has been driving all over. Down to Longbranch to feed and ride the horses every day because they are at summer camp while their pasture is reseeded. Up to Gig Harbor to fetch paint and supplies for the barn remodeling.
Over to Jerry's feed store in Vaughn to get grain, grain, grain for the piggish milkers.
Anyway, all the time we would see the farmer putting things in the car and never taking them out, saying things like, "I might need that."
So I knew there were a lot of things in the car but I was surprised when the farmer's friend had to drive separately from the farmer instead of riding in the station wagon - because there was only room for one person.
But anyway today the farmer took most of the things out of the station wagon - not all, don't be silly - and even I was surprised to see what was in there. It was like watching the clown car at the circus.
This is not a complete list, just a small sampling.
1. A red metal tack box that says "Elvis" - no one knows why - and contains electric sheep shears, clipper blades, clipper oil, clipper grease, fitting accoutrements for show sheep (which we don't have any of thank Goodness. If there is anything dumber than a Nubian, it is a sheep. Bless their hearts, I say).
2. A cordura breastcollar and other tack for a cheap western saddle.
3. A Buena Vista style leather saddle for a Tennessee Walker.
4. A pair of posthole diggers.
5. A can of rustoleum paint.
6. A border collie.
7. Assorted lumber, including pieces of cedar siding and a 3-foot length of treated 6x8.
8. Several bits, including a copper mouth snaffle, a Tom Thumb, and a Kimberwick. A lunging whip, a horse tack box (not the Elvis box) full of combs, brushes, hoofpicks, neatsfoot oil, fly spray, wormer.
9. A bag of green apples.
10. A cheap cordura western saddle.
11. A boston terrier.
12. Assorted paperwork needed to complete an extension-to-file 2007 income tax return.
13. A clay birdhouse.
14. A saddle pad. A plaid wool blanket. A rug. A heavy winter Carhartt jacket. A frisbee. Several dog leashes. A phone book.
15. An extra-large rubbermaid tub full of Tammy's Special Mix. (horse grain.)
16. An old iron double tree (for two horses to pull farm equipment).
17. Assorted reading material including books, newspapers, maps, magazines and flyers.
18. Sixteen charcoal gray Holland paving bricks.
"This will never happen again," the farmer said soberly, examining each item with dismay. Then the farmer got ready to go down to Longbranch.
"Well, I will definitely need these," the farmer said, and put the cheap western saddle and the horse tack box back in the station wagon.
"And probably these," and the bits went back in.
"And I wouldn't go anywhere without this," and in went the border collie, very pleased at the roomy new accommodations.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Brats Next Door
Well the farmer got mad today but not mad enough. We were lolling in the front pasture when two little fat kids (human) from next door came up to the fence.
I thought they might have some licorice or cookies since they were fat kids so I went right up to the fence. Hannah Belle had the same idea and she came right up behind me. Peanut and Betty and Zilla came up behind Hannah Belle, and then Boo the ocean liner came pushing her way to the front, while Joy and Lucy actually stood up on the fence trying to reach into the kids' pockets.
Meanwhile those little fat boys were saying, "Baa, baa, baa," which on the scale of witty remarks is right around zero, in my opinion, but I stayed long enough to make sure they didn't have any ginger snaps.
Then I left. "Come on, Hannah Belle, " I said. And Hannah Belle and Peanut and Zilla and Betty left too. And Ruby and Annabel left. And Joy and Lucy left. And Eo left, and Aggie and Vel. And Scouty. And finally even Boo turned her wide load around and left.
Well, what happened then? The little princes picked up rocks and started throwing them at us.
One of them HIT me! I bawled. And then Boo bawled - she is a pretty hard target to miss, and then everybody started running.
Well, I saw one of the little teletubbies with his arm cocked back and just then I heard the loudest booming voice of all time.
CUT IT OUT!!!!!!!!!!
It was the farmer, madder than a hornet, and the two little rock-throwers were frozen solid with fear. They were stone cold busted, two of them standing there with rocks in their hands.
The farmer gave them a good yelling at, and asked a series of rhetorical questions - sometimes these are the best kind, I think.
Did they know that they could put somebody's eye out?
Would THEY like it if someone threw rocks at them?
What if they had hit that little baby goat (meaning Peanut)?
Didn't they have anything else to do?
Why did they do it?
Well they really liked the goats and they were playing (meaning they said "baa baa baa" over and over) with them (meaning us) and then the goats (meaning us) left and they wanted them to come back.
Good grief. I don't know how it happened but one of the little brats is going to come over tomorrow to give Peanut his bottle. And they both say they won't ever throw rocks at us any more.
Yeah right. Where is that pellet gun when you need it?
I thought they might have some licorice or cookies since they were fat kids so I went right up to the fence. Hannah Belle had the same idea and she came right up behind me. Peanut and Betty and Zilla came up behind Hannah Belle, and then Boo the ocean liner came pushing her way to the front, while Joy and Lucy actually stood up on the fence trying to reach into the kids' pockets.
Meanwhile those little fat boys were saying, "Baa, baa, baa," which on the scale of witty remarks is right around zero, in my opinion, but I stayed long enough to make sure they didn't have any ginger snaps.
Then I left. "Come on, Hannah Belle, " I said. And Hannah Belle and Peanut and Zilla and Betty left too. And Ruby and Annabel left. And Joy and Lucy left. And Eo left, and Aggie and Vel. And Scouty. And finally even Boo turned her wide load around and left.
Well, what happened then? The little princes picked up rocks and started throwing them at us.
One of them HIT me! I bawled. And then Boo bawled - she is a pretty hard target to miss, and then everybody started running.
Well, I saw one of the little teletubbies with his arm cocked back and just then I heard the loudest booming voice of all time.
CUT IT OUT!!!!!!!!!!
It was the farmer, madder than a hornet, and the two little rock-throwers were frozen solid with fear. They were stone cold busted, two of them standing there with rocks in their hands.
The farmer gave them a good yelling at, and asked a series of rhetorical questions - sometimes these are the best kind, I think.
Did they know that they could put somebody's eye out?
Would THEY like it if someone threw rocks at them?
What if they had hit that little baby goat (meaning Peanut)?
Didn't they have anything else to do?
Why did they do it?
Well they really liked the goats and they were playing (meaning they said "baa baa baa" over and over) with them (meaning us) and then the goats (meaning us) left and they wanted them to come back.
Good grief. I don't know how it happened but one of the little brats is going to come over tomorrow to give Peanut his bottle. And they both say they won't ever throw rocks at us any more.
Yeah right. Where is that pellet gun when you need it?
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Summertime
It is well and truly summertime and you know what they say about that.
The living is so easy that several girls are on the Fat List, including yours truly.
The down-belows are slick and glossy; they go out during the day and munch hardhack and all-you-can-eat canary grass. Several babies and dry does are in very good condition (dairygoatspeak for 'waytoofat'), and even the milkers (Betsy and Wronny and Peaches) are tending toward the chubby. Peaches' little daughter Jules is as fat as a tick - in addition to grain and all-you-can-eat brush and grass, she is on a wide-open 24-hour milk buffet, and is quickly becoming the poster doeling for kidhood obesity.
Boo is also a tub - in my opinion she needs a couple of those big mirrors like the truck drivers have - and even Brandy looks like a normal goat instead of a skeleton.
Only Winnie and Penrose are still thin, and that is because they both milk like a fish.
But I have also noticed that there are a lot of fat robins. I have not seen fat robins before and I'm not sure how they fly. But there are several of them waddling around here.
It's just my opinion, but I think it is better to be a fat goat than a fat robin. At least I do not need a runway to get off the ground. Although sometimes when I see Boo heading for the feeder I wonder if it wouldn't be easier if there were a couple of tugboats to pull her in.
And that little Jules. My goodness. Behind her back everyone calls her Butterball, and even that is being polite.
The living is so easy that several girls are on the Fat List, including yours truly.
The down-belows are slick and glossy; they go out during the day and munch hardhack and all-you-can-eat canary grass. Several babies and dry does are in very good condition (dairygoatspeak for 'waytoofat'), and even the milkers (Betsy and Wronny and Peaches) are tending toward the chubby. Peaches' little daughter Jules is as fat as a tick - in addition to grain and all-you-can-eat brush and grass, she is on a wide-open 24-hour milk buffet, and is quickly becoming the poster doeling for kidhood obesity.
Boo is also a tub - in my opinion she needs a couple of those big mirrors like the truck drivers have - and even Brandy looks like a normal goat instead of a skeleton.
Only Winnie and Penrose are still thin, and that is because they both milk like a fish.
But I have also noticed that there are a lot of fat robins. I have not seen fat robins before and I'm not sure how they fly. But there are several of them waddling around here.
It's just my opinion, but I think it is better to be a fat goat than a fat robin. At least I do not need a runway to get off the ground. Although sometimes when I see Boo heading for the feeder I wonder if it wouldn't be easier if there were a couple of tugboats to pull her in.
And that little Jules. My goodness. Behind her back everyone calls her Butterball, and even that is being polite.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Blessed Rain
Thank God for the rain, the blessed rain. That's what the farmer is saying.
The farmer is very tired out by haying, and the rain has put a temporary stop to it. In case you haven't heard, you have to make hay while the sun shines.
When it rains, you can lie around moaning about your tired muscles for a day or two until the haying resumes.
Here are some tips for haying, if you ever have to do it.
1. If you are considering haying, first of all have a dozen or so children, preferably boys or burly girls. Feed them a lot of pancakes and homeschool them so they don't hear a lot of foolish talk about child labor laws. (They will have to be your own children; you won't be able to make anyone else's children hay for you.)
2. When you are picking up hay in the field, use your hay hooks. If you pick up the hay by the strings, you will hurt your hands, and much more importantly, you will mess up the hay bales.
3. Don't pick up messed up hay bales. Just go on to the next bale. The people who don't get to the hayfield on time can have all the messed up smiley bales. These bales won't stack nicely.
4. When you are building your hay stack, make sure all the bales on the bottom are really nice. Iffy bales can go on top.
5. Don't pick up bales in the hayfield when it is 95 degrees.
6. Call up your city friends and tell them you are having a "hay party." It will be so much fun and so quaint! Working like a dog in the hot sun picking up actual hay bales for actual animals to eat! It is just like a reality show, only even more real!
7. Bring a sixpack of nice cold beer for the hay man.
8. Deliver the choicest hay to your favorite goat. (That's me, Baby Belle.)
The farmer is very tired out by haying, and the rain has put a temporary stop to it. In case you haven't heard, you have to make hay while the sun shines.
When it rains, you can lie around moaning about your tired muscles for a day or two until the haying resumes.
Here are some tips for haying, if you ever have to do it.
1. If you are considering haying, first of all have a dozen or so children, preferably boys or burly girls. Feed them a lot of pancakes and homeschool them so they don't hear a lot of foolish talk about child labor laws. (They will have to be your own children; you won't be able to make anyone else's children hay for you.)
2. When you are picking up hay in the field, use your hay hooks. If you pick up the hay by the strings, you will hurt your hands, and much more importantly, you will mess up the hay bales.
3. Don't pick up messed up hay bales. Just go on to the next bale. The people who don't get to the hayfield on time can have all the messed up smiley bales. These bales won't stack nicely.
4. When you are building your hay stack, make sure all the bales on the bottom are really nice. Iffy bales can go on top.
5. Don't pick up bales in the hayfield when it is 95 degrees.
6. Call up your city friends and tell them you are having a "hay party." It will be so much fun and so quaint! Working like a dog in the hot sun picking up actual hay bales for actual animals to eat! It is just like a reality show, only even more real!
7. Bring a sixpack of nice cold beer for the hay man.
8. Deliver the choicest hay to your favorite goat. (That's me, Baby Belle.)
Sunday, July 08, 2007
The Adventures of GoatBoy
Peanut did not get the memo that he is not a normal goat, even though the farmer insists he isn't.
Today he was out climbing the goat tree in the horse pasture while the horses are at summer camp.
He seems to think he is a normal goatboy. In fact he is much more of a hooligan than his big handsome brother Zilla, who bursts into tears whenever he can't see his mama for 15 seconds or longer.
Peanut is the only goat who has been in the sacred cheese room. Anyone else would have been spanked for going in there.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
The Hay
The Hay.
The Hay is ready.
It is out in the field in Longbranch and the farmer is going to get it. The Hay is on a heartbreaking hillside overlooking Carr Inlet near Driftwood Point, where it has been enjoying the sunshine and the delicious breezes off the Sound.
The Hay is beautiful this year. But then, I think The Hay is beautiful every year. I love The Hay.
The farmer loves The Hay too, but also hates it. The Hay smells good and makes all the animals happy, but you have to pay for it, either through the nose or through the muscles, and you have to worry about it.
Is The Hay too dry? Is The Hay too wet? Was The Hay cut too soon? Was it cut too late? Is there enough of it? Is there too much of it? Would the Skokomish Valley hay have been better? Will there be enough room for the alfalfa when it comes?
This year The Farmer is paying for The Hay through the muscles, by going out into the field to pick it up, and load it on the trailer, and drive it back to the farm, and unload it from the trailer, and stack it in the barn.
This will be much cheaper than having The Hay delivered.
But it is very exhausting, so the farmer is very grumpy, and Lori is even grumpier, because Lori doesn't love-hate The Hay like the farmer, she just hates it.
As for me, maybe I mentioned it, I love The Hay.
The Hay is beautiful, and sweet. And The Hay smells like Forever. If anyone ever asks you what Forever is like, just tell them Forever is like The Hay.
They will either know what you mean, or they won't, but in any case, The Hay will be here long after they are gone, so it doesn't really matter.
To The Hay: I love you.
The Hay.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Peanut's Progress
When you used to see my grandson Peanut running, you would say to yourself, "run, Forrest, run."
This was because Peanut had a very wooden way of running and not the usual ultra-nimble baby goat caper. The baby goats do not need any half-pipe for their aerial stunts and displays. And they do not need a skateboard either. They just naturally know how to fly.
But Peanut went sort of squeaking along like the Tin Man, like there wasn't enough oil in his joints.
I don't know why but when the visitor humans all saw him, they would say, "Bless his heart." Which I guess is some kind of human insult, because they don't say that when they see the regular baby goats doing 360s off the barn wall. But when they saw Peanut they used to say, "Bless his heart."
Now when the visitor humans come to see Peanut the miracle baby they look at Hannah Belle's triplets for a while and then they say, "which one is he?"
Because it is very hard to tell Peanut from a normal baby now. First of all he has just about tripled in size. And second he walks and runs and capers and tries to jump on his mother's back and chews her beard when he gets a chance and wiggles under the stall boards to go outside with the big babies, which isn't allowed but of course all the little babies do it.
Only the farmer insists that Peanut is not normal. I think this is because the farmer agreed with Lori that Peanut would have to stay here and couldn't ever go to a new home because he wasn't quite normal, in spite of there being a strict rule against wethers here. And so the farmer points Peanut out to the visitors and says, "if you watch him for a while you will see that he is not normal. But you have to watch him for a while."
And so the visitors stare at Peanut. And the farmer says sadly, "Bless his heart."
This was because Peanut had a very wooden way of running and not the usual ultra-nimble baby goat caper. The baby goats do not need any half-pipe for their aerial stunts and displays. And they do not need a skateboard either. They just naturally know how to fly.
But Peanut went sort of squeaking along like the Tin Man, like there wasn't enough oil in his joints.
I don't know why but when the visitor humans all saw him, they would say, "Bless his heart." Which I guess is some kind of human insult, because they don't say that when they see the regular baby goats doing 360s off the barn wall. But when they saw Peanut they used to say, "Bless his heart."
Now when the visitor humans come to see Peanut the miracle baby they look at Hannah Belle's triplets for a while and then they say, "which one is he?"
Because it is very hard to tell Peanut from a normal baby now. First of all he has just about tripled in size. And second he walks and runs and capers and tries to jump on his mother's back and chews her beard when he gets a chance and wiggles under the stall boards to go outside with the big babies, which isn't allowed but of course all the little babies do it.
Only the farmer insists that Peanut is not normal. I think this is because the farmer agreed with Lori that Peanut would have to stay here and couldn't ever go to a new home because he wasn't quite normal, in spite of there being a strict rule against wethers here. And so the farmer points Peanut out to the visitors and says, "if you watch him for a while you will see that he is not normal. But you have to watch him for a while."
And so the visitors stare at Peanut. And the farmer says sadly, "Bless his heart."
Cheese Flavors
The farmer has been trying to think of new flavors of soft cheese and I have offered to help but none of my suggestions have been taken. I suggested perhaps a new alfalfa-flavored cheese or possibly a peanut cheese. Another thing that might be good would be a cheese with hints of cob, or a pea-vine cheese, or a banana-peel cheese (this could be marketed to Nubians, they would go crazy for it), or a ginger-snap cheese or a vanilla-wafer cheese with notes of ordinary garden weeds (those spindly ones with the ugly little yellow flowers that nobody knows what they are but they taste good). Then I suggested blackberry-leaf cheese. Blackberry leaves are one of my favorite meals, also salal. None of these suggestions have been taken which puts me at my wits' end. Perhaps you have a better idea.
But I doubt it.
But I doubt it.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
A Giude for Young Muthers
hello this is hannahbelle. I am t6he motehr of goatzilla peanut and boxcaR BETTY. i have some suggestions for those of you entering teh condition of motehrhood.
get a box to stand on or a stool.
you will feel a lot happier.
this way you can look at your kids and make sure they are still alive and everything without them coming up to you and drinking all your milk and making you feel drained when you need a few moments of alone time or just want to think about ginger snaps or something else important. because they can't reach you because you are standing up on a box. but they can see you so they dont cry or make a big fuss.
just a tip frmo me to you. thanks you.
please sned ginger snaps by the way now that I am thinking of it.
get a box to stand on or a stool.
you will feel a lot happier.
this way you can look at your kids and make sure they are still alive and everything without them coming up to you and drinking all your milk and making you feel drained when you need a few moments of alone time or just want to think about ginger snaps or something else important. because they can't reach you because you are standing up on a box. but they can see you so they dont cry or make a big fuss.
just a tip frmo me to you. thanks you.
please sned ginger snaps by the way now that I am thinking of it.
Hannah Belle's New Leaf
When my daughter Hannah Belle was a young mother, let's face it, she wasn't very good at it. And she didn't like it much. It was a lot of trouble.
So most of the time what she did was just go do what she wanted, leaving her two sons in the care of the farmer or anybody else who happened to be standing around. To the boys she would say, "Love ya! See you when all the bars close! Bye!"
And then she would be on her merry way, hopping over the stall wall to see if the grain room door was open, feasting on carefully tended rose bushes in the lawn, eating the leaves of expensive pawpaw trees imported from Virginia, kicking at the kitchen door to see if it would open, and so on. All the things any self-respecting goat feels obligated to do.
Well, this was actually fine because her two boys were very lighthearted and spent a lot of time frolicking with the other babies, and they only really noticed that they were essentially orphans when they started wanting milk. Which of course was all the time.
But anyway it wasn't too bad.
But now Hannah Belle is older and wiser and with her second set of kids - beautiful triplets - she has completely turned herself around. She will probably be voted mother of the year, not an honor to which I personally have ever aspired, but then there is no accounting for taste.
To tell you the truth, I think she is overdoing it a little. Go out, have some fun, eat a few blueberry bushes if you can sneak into the garden, that's what I say.
But not the new Hannah Belle. All day she stays with her kids, nuzzling little Peanut, cleaning big little Goatzilla's face, letting little Boxcar Betty use her for a trampoline. It's almost a little much.
So most of the time what she did was just go do what she wanted, leaving her two sons in the care of the farmer or anybody else who happened to be standing around. To the boys she would say, "Love ya! See you when all the bars close! Bye!"
And then she would be on her merry way, hopping over the stall wall to see if the grain room door was open, feasting on carefully tended rose bushes in the lawn, eating the leaves of expensive pawpaw trees imported from Virginia, kicking at the kitchen door to see if it would open, and so on. All the things any self-respecting goat feels obligated to do.
Well, this was actually fine because her two boys were very lighthearted and spent a lot of time frolicking with the other babies, and they only really noticed that they were essentially orphans when they started wanting milk. Which of course was all the time.
But anyway it wasn't too bad.
But now Hannah Belle is older and wiser and with her second set of kids - beautiful triplets - she has completely turned herself around. She will probably be voted mother of the year, not an honor to which I personally have ever aspired, but then there is no accounting for taste.
To tell you the truth, I think she is overdoing it a little. Go out, have some fun, eat a few blueberry bushes if you can sneak into the garden, that's what I say.
But not the new Hannah Belle. All day she stays with her kids, nuzzling little Peanut, cleaning big little Goatzilla's face, letting little Boxcar Betty use her for a trampoline. It's almost a little much.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Enough About Peanut
In all the brouhaha about adorable little Peanut, who I admit is the cutest thing on four hooves, some people seem to have forgotten that I have TWO new grandsons.
The other one is Goatzilla, aka Zilla, aka the prettiest blue-eyed buckling of all time.
My family of course is known for producing towering geniuses and kindly humble unaffected supermodels, but even by our standards Goatzilla is almost too pretty to look at.
Anyway, I'm sure you will see him on the covers of all the big goat magazines very soon, if you haven't already.
Like Cher, he needs only one name.
Goatzilla.
Peanut Parking Only
Little Peanut has turned a corner. Literally.
For his first few days, Peanut was only able to walk in a straight line. If he came to a wall, he would just stop. Then, like a little wind-up toy, the juice would gradually drain out of him until he just stood in whatever corner he had fetched up in, head down and battery dead.
He couldn't turn his head properly to groom himself, and he couldn't scratch.
Today Peanut can do all these things. He can also jump and hop (very small hops.)
This morning for the first time he went to the baby corner where he sleeps with his brother and sister, and he saw that Boxcar Betty was lying in "his" spot. And he did something that all normal baby goats do, but he had never done before.
He pawed at Betty until she grudgingly moved over an inch or two so he could lie where he wanted.
Yes. That's right, world. It's time to make room for Peanut.
For his first few days, Peanut was only able to walk in a straight line. If he came to a wall, he would just stop. Then, like a little wind-up toy, the juice would gradually drain out of him until he just stood in whatever corner he had fetched up in, head down and battery dead.
He couldn't turn his head properly to groom himself, and he couldn't scratch.
Today Peanut can do all these things. He can also jump and hop (very small hops.)
This morning for the first time he went to the baby corner where he sleeps with his brother and sister, and he saw that Boxcar Betty was lying in "his" spot. And he did something that all normal baby goats do, but he had never done before.
He pawed at Betty until she grudgingly moved over an inch or two so he could lie where he wanted.
Yes. That's right, world. It's time to make room for Peanut.
Friday, June 08, 2007
They Call Me MISTER Peanut
My grandson Peanut is doing well.
He still does not have the hang of getting milk from his mother, but he knows how to suck from a bottle pretty well. And he is nothing if not optimistic: if he is hungry and there is no bottle nearby, he just turns his head up and sucks from the air.
Yes, maybe a cloud of milk could be passing by. You don't know if you don't check.
But Peanut is still on Day One of the Nigerian growth chart. While his brother and sister nurse, jump, dance, caper, play, taste test bits of hay and grain, practice jumping up on things, fret their mother by socializing with Wendell, and plan for future trouble they might be able to cause, Peanut only sleeps and eats and walks in a straight line.
So he is a little on the slow side.
But still smarter than any Nubian around here.
And, if I say so myself, probably the cutest little teacup goat ever born.
He still does not have the hang of getting milk from his mother, but he knows how to suck from a bottle pretty well. And he is nothing if not optimistic: if he is hungry and there is no bottle nearby, he just turns his head up and sucks from the air.
Yes, maybe a cloud of milk could be passing by. You don't know if you don't check.
But Peanut is still on Day One of the Nigerian growth chart. While his brother and sister nurse, jump, dance, caper, play, taste test bits of hay and grain, practice jumping up on things, fret their mother by socializing with Wendell, and plan for future trouble they might be able to cause, Peanut only sleeps and eats and walks in a straight line.
So he is a little on the slow side.
But still smarter than any Nubian around here.
And, if I say so myself, probably the cutest little teacup goat ever born.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Peanut and His Brother
This is a picture of Peanut standing next to his big brother, Goatzilla. You can't really tell it from the photo, but Zilla is more than twice as big as Peanut. A lot more.
Peanut's Second Night
This is a picture of my grandson Peanut, just born.
Peanut did very well his second night. He did not have any more seizures, and he drank several small helpings of milk.
But because he isn't yet very good at getting milk from his mother without help, he came into the house to be a bottle baby at night. So for now he is bicoastal: bottle baby by night and Mama's boy by day.
Peanut is the smallest buckling ever born here.
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