Goat Glossary

Backsnack (verb, noun): to glean delicious morsels from another goat's back, to backsnack.

Usage:

"I enjoyed a nice backsnack when I stood next to Jammies at the feeder. Her woolly coat is like an alfalfa lint brush."

"I couldn't backsnack because I was stuck next to Peaches, and she has no undercoat."

Miracle Mac

If you are a person and you break your leg you have to waddle around for months with a cast. This is bad because you only have two legs. And one of them is broken. So half your legs are broken, and you were probably slow and ungainly to begin with. No offense to you, but you know what I mean.

I have seen people who were three or four or five times taller than a Nigerian, and they cannot even jump over a fence as tall as their middle. It's sad. Very sad.

Whereas Aunt Hannah Belle, who is 23 inches tall at the withers, used to be able to jump five feet before her waistline expanded. Now she can only jump four.

Anyway Mac the baby goat broke his leg ten days ago. Yesterday they took the cast off.

Fixed. One more example of goat superiority.

Without those thumbs, the people species would have died out a long time ago.

Grass Thief

Tommy the grumpy appaloosa owns all the grass around here. In this photo Moldy hides behind a locust tree so he will not see her eating his grass.

Just looking for some missing earrings, Tommy. Pay no attention.

Headed Out This Morning, Into the Sun

Wronny's bland babies finally got their names. There are two boys and one girl. The super sweet boy is going to be named Spud. The smart one is going to be named Ivar.

The girl had to have an A name. Every person who came said why not Annie? Or why not Ann? Or why not Anna? Anna Banana? One person said how about Anne-Marie?

Anyway her name is not going to be Ann or Anne-Marie. Her name is going to be Anastasia, like the Grand Duchess. She is very imperial.

But I guess everyone will probably just call her Annie.

Dreamboat Annie.

Ship of dreams.

Excuse Me, Sir, Which Way to the Milk Bar?

Double Triplets

Wronny had her kids yesterday exactly by the book as usual. She had a set of triplets, just like Joy. Very boring, just like Joy's. But much bigger and louder. They've been complaining since they got here.

Wronny went right back to work on the milkstand without batting an eye.

"I would not take a thousand dollars for that doe," the farmer said, to no one in particular.

Of course that is easy to say when no one has offered a thousand dollars.

But anyway that's what the farmer said.

Abilene and Amarillo

Joy Division

Joy had three triplets this morning.

There is a large one, a medium one, and a small one. They cry and they sleep and that's it.

No personality whatsoever.

My Special Day

Yesterday was warm and cold and sunny and cloudy and calm and windy and a little bit showery and then it snowed. It is hard to dress for that kind of weather.

Joy the sweetest LaMancha is as big as a house and going to kid this afternoon.

The farmer said yesterday I was going to get special attention because I haven't gotten any attention at all because everyone just pays attention to Melody's two spindly little daughters.

But then I didn't get any attention because the farmer had to go and get the grain and then unload it moaning and wheezing and grunting in a very dramatic fashion which did not draw any applause or interest from the audience.

Then the farmer got the kidding stall ready for Joy. Then Peaches started acting sick for no reason and wouldn't eat her grain so the farmer had to go and cut some branches for Peaches.

Then the farmer had to switch Tommy's blanket. What's the difference which blanket he has on? They don't have any fashion shows around here for grumpy old nags.

Oh then big surprise there was no more time for my special attention.

I don't care, why should I.

Captive Audience

Two More Travelers on the Oregon Trail

Moldy will be getting a little extra in her pay packet this week. She had two doelings at 3 o'clock. That's good, now she has someone to listen to all her complaints.

She is already telling them about the great utopia of Oregon where she used to live. The beautiful land of milk and honey, where candy grows on trees, and little white goats ride on satin cushions.

Speaking of little white goats I was expecting two more drab nondescript things but these are flashy, almost as colorful as me. In this case I wonder if my excellent name ideas - "Fungus" and "Mildew" - will be accepted.

Sometimes when the farmer says a suggestion is "under consideration" it doesn't necessarily mean what you think.

Oh well, once they are dry the drabness will probably set in.

T Plus Two

Nothing. Bupkus.

T Plus One

The tsunami didn't do anything and neither did Moldy. It wasn't a beautiful day, either, it was a soggy mess.

Now it has stopped raining though.

So what, it will probably start again soon.

We are sick of the rain and mud. Even Willen the fat Haflinger is sick of it, he wouldn't come up to the fence for a raisin bagel yesterday because he didn't want to walk through the mud. Instead he let Tommy take his bagel. The farmer's jaw dropped almost to the ground.

Tommy is a bagel hog, he would swim across Vaughn Bay for a bagel.

It is spring now, it doesn't matter what the calendar says. All the blossoms are blooming and the frogs are delirious with the their nighttime singing.

I don't know if anyone has bought the naming rights, I doubt it, but anyway I have suggested two names for Moldy's babies and they are "under consideration," whatever that means.

My suggestions are Fungus and Mildew, because these are mold names, and Moldy's name is Moldy.

Then they could be called Gus and Dewey, like the decimal. Nice.

That is if they ever show up.

T Minus Zero

Today is T Minus Zero, Moldy's due day, and she is not doing anything.

Outside it is very still with the last bits of the overnight rain drizzled out. The clouds are breaking up and it plans to be a beautiful day.

We are under a tsunami advisory because of the massive earthquake in Chile.

Don't worry if the water starts to rise I will rush up into the hayloft. I don't think I will be able to save Moldy so I hope she can swim. Good luck, Moldy.

There is hay up there so don't worry I will be okay.

This Weather

Around here people never get tired of talking about the weather when it is nice. When it is not nice nobody says anything. They just trudge around with their mud flaps out. But on days like the last few days everyone says, This Weather!

Can you believe This Weather?

How do you like This Weather?

This Weather!

Then the other person says, I KNOW!

or Isn't It Something?

They never get tired of it. They say it over and over.

I think it is because of this weather but yesterday I went into heat again. I felt it coming over me and I struggled against it but I was powerless to resist. I gave in and started screaming at the top of my lungs to signify that I was interested in gentleman callers - this is a good system, I don't know why people don't do it this way - and the farmer came running out of the house and picked me up and scurried to the car and stuffed me in a green dog crate and peeled out the driveway off to Minter Bay Dairy Goats.

We got there in record time - I think the screaming helped move things along - and we drove right to the drive-up buck window and the farmer got me out of the crate and carried me to the buck pen and inside there was the most darling little buck.

He looked just like a china doll! A little teacup buck like you might get in a cereal box! I mean adorable!

CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS WEATHER? I screamed at him.

I KNOW!!! He blubbered. ISN'T IT SOMETHING??!!

By this time I was ready to go and the farmer grabbed me and stuffed me back in the crate and we peeled out back to the farm, doing a donut in the field around the Minter Bay guard llama, who made no effort to check our IDs or anything else.

NICE TO MEET YOU! I screamed to the tiny buck. SEE YOU NEXT YEAR!

T Minus 9

Walker the Talker has been hanging around with the three little wethers. They rush around in a wether pack investigating food sightings. He took Bennett's advice and got his blue back.

It was a beautiful day, probably one of the ten most beautiful days of the year, and that helped.

Willen's long vacation is finally over. A good rider has been coming to ride him. He pretended he only knew how to stumble around like a 3-legged donkey for several days but it didn't take long to outsmart him. Today he was cantering all over and actually sweating. Tomorrow, who knows, maybe he will leave for Churchill Downs.

If anyone ever tries to put a saddle on you, take my advice and collapse on the ground in a dead faint. Moan and slobber a little bit too if you can. If that doesn't work, do a big Frankenstein limp.

The kidding countdown starts today.

Moldy is supposed to have her kids on February 27. She is already talking about it. Today is February 18, so it is T minus 9. Hurry up, Moldy.

Walkie Talkie

Walker the Talker is the handsomest minimancha wether in the world and he has a very high opinion of himself.

He thinks he is the handsomest minimancha wether in the world.

He likes to give his input on anything you are doing. "What are you doing?" he is always asking, even if you are asleep or possibly having a personal moment to yourself to think about pea hay.

Who invented pea hay? How did they think of it? Was it the same person who invented ginger snaps? Where does that person live? Near here?

Walker doesn't care how busy you are thinking about pea hay. He butts right in. He talks so much is why he got his nickname, Walker the Talker. For short we just call him Walkie Talkie.

If Walker sees a camera he runs over and stares at it until it takes his picture. Then he turns slightly so that his picture can be taken from another angle.

"Look at my eyes," he is always saying. "They are sky blue. That means they are as blue as the sky."

Anyway Walker has always lacked humility, unlike me.

Until yesterday.

Walker had gone to his new home where he was going to eat brush and be a friend to another goat. Then the phone rang. It was the people who got Walker and they said their dogs were trying to kill him. Maybe the dogs got tired of hearing his opinions, I thought.

Well the farmer has a policy of no refunds or exchanges. And also a strict policy of no wethers. So I was surprised when the farmer went and got in the truck and drove off and came back with Walker.

Walker got out and he was fine, there was nothing wrong with him. The dogs did not do a very good job of trying to kill him.

But he was humbled.

Zane Grey went over to give Walker a friendly t-boning and the farmer caught Zane Grey and picked him up.

"Just leave him alone," said the farmer. "Just leave him alone for today."

For the rest of the day Walker did not say anything or give any of his opinions. He walked along quietly behind the farmer, not letting even an inch of daylight get between him and the farmer.

His eyes did not even look that blue any more.

The Loneliest Number

We had the warmest January ever after one of the coldest Decembers ever. It was my first one so I don't really have anything to compare it to. But everyone was complaining it was too cold. And now it is too warm.

It is soppy and mild and last night the frogs started singing, all at once like they always do. Usually they don't start singing until March or April. But last night they started in, all together like a marching band.

The farmer went down and got Peaches and took Peaches up to the barn. Peaches has to go on solitary because she never gets enough to eat when she is in with other goats, even if one of them is in love with her, like Cowboy is. So while Cowboy wasn't looking the farmer came and got Peaches.

Cowboy heard the gate close behind them and he came running.

He started crying and threw himself against the gate.

"It's ok, Cowboy," the farmer said. Cowboy picked himself up and threw himself against the gate again.

The farmer put Peaches in a stall by herself with a large supply of hay. Peaches started right in eating. The farmer brought Peaches some extra grain. Peaches took a short break from eating hay to gobble the grain. Then she went back to eating hay.

The farmer turned out the lights in the barn and went into the house for the night.

We all sat there in the dark. We could hear Peaches eating her hay. In the background we could hear the chain rattling each time Cowboy threw himself against the gate. In the background behind the background, we could hear the frogs singing.

It's February. But it feels like April.

Car Inspector

Kind of messy in there.

Headroom is pretty good.

No tread on the tires. Looks like a banana peel.

How'd this scratch get on here? Shaped like a little hoofprint, hmm, that's funny.

You Can't Plant Me in Your Penthouse

Around here the reception is not very good. Things don't come in. Things like the phone, the tv, the radio.

Anyway every morning in the milk parlor the farmer turns on the radio. It is an old radio where you twiddle the dial. Usually only one of two stations will come in. One is a country music radio station and the other is news and talk. Both of these are fine. The milkers will tolerate either one.

But sometimes the farmer likes to test the waters, just to see if maybe a new station from who knows where will come in. Every once in a while something new comes on. Then after a few days it goes out and we go back to country music or talk radio.

Well a strange new station came in. It was playing soft rock, which we thought had been outlawed but apparently not.

The farmer left it on and set up the milk machine and put out the food trays and opened up the hatch for the milkers to come in.

Xie Xie was at the top of the ramp when Elton John came on, warbling "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road."

Xie Xie made a set of patented pop eyes and dismounted immediately off the ramp. Big Orange was behind her and followed suit. Next was Wronny, who came all the way up to the door and stood staring into the milk parlor with a look of shock and horror.

"You know you can't hold me forever," Elton John continued.

"Get in here, Wronny!" yelled the farmer.

Wronny backed away cautiously, like you would from a grizzly bear, trying not to show fear.

"Winnie! Winnie, get in here!" yelled the farmer, trying to reach through the hatch to grab somebody. Winnie would not even set foot on the ramp.

Pretty soon all the milkers backed away from the hatch, huddling in the opposite corner of the on-deck stall.

"What are you doing?" yelled the farmer. Elton John went off. Xie Xie cautiously put a foot on the ramp during the commercial.

"Oh," said the farmer, and turned the station back to talk radio. The milkers relaxed. The milking got under way without further incident.

Our farmer is not as smart as some farmers. But we make do with what we have.