Harmony and the Polar Express

Q: Can't We All Just Get Along?

A: Yes, if it is cold enough.

Around here we are used to the Pineapple Express. It comes in the winter from Hawaii, dumping gallons and gallons of rain and bringing a clammy unseasonable warmth, sometimes even 60 degrees in January. Occasionally during the Pineapple Express a bunch of flies will wake up, thinking it is April, and flutter around groggily until the Express blows out of town.

We are not used to the Polar Express. Last night was an all-time record low of 8 degrees here, making Monday's 30 degree snowstorm a pleasant memory.

After the snow the sky cleared ominously, north to south, turning a bright bitter blue and bringing in the Arctic wind from Canada. That is not how we like it here. We like our wind from the West, even if it means the Pineapple Express. That is what we are set up for.

The farmer has been stamping around babysitting the pipes with wraps and heaters and every tap turned to dripping and half the time on bended knee praying to the God of Plumbing: dear Lord, please help the pipes and keep them whole in their hour of need amen dear Lord.

As far as us goats the farmer does not seem too concerned, although Izzy did get rescued and plunked into the Nigerian refugee stall with the rest of us.

That's ok because we have our own system. When it is 50 degrees or 40 degrees or 30 degrees we keep to our usual hierarchy. When it is 20 we start to make exceptions: for example the night before last we allowed Cherry's daughter Bing to sleep in our pile even though she is only half Nigerian.

When it got down to 10, we abandoned the hierarchy completely. All the goats from the snow-filled cabana piled into the barn together into a single heap. Pinky, Jr. (the lamb) was lying by Brandy (the lion); Wronny pretended not to notice that Jimmy and Jimmy Jr. were invading her space; Winnie turned a blind eye to the appearance of Betsy, whom she normally cannot tolerate.

Meanwhile one of our flickers fell out of a tree, stone cold dead and frozen solid. So sorry, little flicker, best to travel with a herd during the Polar Express.

By midnight last night Penrose, being a Swiss goat, had to get up and move closer to the door - she was getting too hot in the pile. "Excuse me, won't you," she asked politely as she tiptoed to a new spot, taking care not to step on anyone and freeing up a heat pocket in the middle for Xie Xie to roll into.

Sometimes, we are the world.

Snow Day

A lot has been happening so we have not been able to post the information about the new Sheriff of Crazytown. But don't worry it is coming.

Right now there are a couple of inches of snow on the ground and the snow is still coming thick and fast.

Well that's fine, who cares, I have my winter coat on, except last week a big windstorm came and blew the roof off the buck shed and part of the roof off our cabana. So no one wants to go inside the cabana, since it doesn't really have that "inside" feeling since there is an inch of snow inside most of it. The farmer couldn't get the sheds fixed in time with one thing and another so the big bucks moved to the baby buck shed and the baby bucks moved to the big barn, and the farmer relented and let a bunch of Nigerian refugees into the barn instead of cramming into a tiny corner of the cabana where there is no snow.

I got to go to the barn and my mother Belle Pepper and Hannah Belle and Big Orange somehow snuck in with us, I guess because she is the mayor she can go where she wants, and Betty and Iota (Pawprint) and Ringo.

Since the baby bucks are in the barn with their buckly aroma pervading every corner everyone who was thinking about coming into heat came into heat all together creating an ungodly din of Nubianesque screaming even though we do not have any fullblood Nubians any more. You cannot hear yourself think, which isn't usually a problem but today all of a sudden in a quiet patch I heard myself thinking and I was thinking, "where is Izzy?"

Izzy is my daughter and she was trapped out in the snow with no mother or brother to cuddle with and so I started screaming and the farmer said "oh Millie are you coming into heat?"

And I screamed "NO! MY LITTLE TINY DAUGHTER IS TRAPPED IN THE SNOW ALONE!"

The farmer doddered off to go get some hot chocolate so I continued screaming and Ringo joined in with me but we were a poor second to the overheated Valkyries.

Occasionally from deep down inside the snow-filled cabana we would hear Izzy peeping forlornly and we would also hear Pinky calling like a foghorn, probably to one of her imaginary friends. And now and then Penrose would shout, "Why me?"

Eo suffered in silence as usual, with her eyes narrowed, plotting her revenge on the cruel world.

Meet the Mayor

Elections are very expensive so it has been decided that Big Orange will stay on as Mayor of Crazy Town, even though she is not really qualified any more. That has never stopped anyone else.

But don't worry, there will be a new Sheriff, and she is overqualified, so that should make up for it.

Tomorrow, you can meet the Sheriff.

Wendell's Traveling Dime Store

If you look at our dog Wendell you might not think much, he just looks like a boston bulldog, plain black and white with four paws and a round head like a little pumpkin. But inside that pumpkin there must be pages and pages of the Sears catalog or something because Wendell loves to bring things home from faraway places.

This happens when he gets under the fence and goes snuffling around the neighborhood, which is strictly forbidden so it only happens roughly three or four times a day.

Here are some of the items Wendell has brought back from his travels: stuffed animals (several regular teddy bears and a duck wearing shorts and suspenders and a little cap), hand tools, unmentionables, a slice of pepperoni pizza (still warm), a plastic Godzilla one foot tall, a carburetor, 10,000 balls (tennis, golf, and other sports), a new pair of socks (tag still on it).

Those are just some things. We don't have room to list everything. It is possible he is running some type of backwoods delivery service. We just don't know.

Anyway you might think a dog that has the nerve to snatch a slice of pizza that is still warm or a carburetor which somebody almost certainly needs, probably a large person with muscular forearms, you might think a dog like that would be very brave.

But that is not the case.

Yesterday Wendell was sitting in the living room and he started shaking and shaking uncontrollably, which is what he does when he is in the grip of a terrible fear. The farmer looked out the window from whence the horror came and there was a deer in the yard. More of a fawn, really.

And last week Wendell was in the barn and the farmer shooed him out but he wouldn't go which is a serious violation. "Get out, Wendell!" the farmer yelled, but Wendell just sat there shaking and shaking like the end was near. The farmer looked out and the tuxedo cat from next door was strolling through the garden. Wendell was pop-eyed with terror.

So you might think that a little dog afraid of a tuxedo cat and a fawn must be a terrible coward. But consider the case of Wendell and B.D., in which Wendell routed a bold, gigantic coyote.

So maybe he is both, a terrible coward with the heart of a lion and the guts of a burglar. And a traveling dime store all his own.

Fairies in the Kitchen

The Million-Dollar Babies

The Jammies Family is rather sickening because they always get a lot of attention in fact when the farmer sees them the farmer always says "oh Jammies, I love you, Jammies." Or, "oh, Bumbles, I love you, Bumbles." Not like Tangy for example where the farmer always says, "Tangy, get OFF!" or Maddy where the farmer says, "Will you PLEASE be quiet," or Jimmy, Jr where the farmer says, "JIMMY! Do not make me come and get you!" or Hannah Belle where the farmer simply bellows, "HANNAH BELLE LECTER!"

No with Jammies the perfect mini-Mancha and Bumbles the overstuffed doeling it is always Jammies I love you Jammies and Bumbles I love you Bumbles.

In this photo they take their adorableness to a new level by lounging in the pasture on one of our probably last sunny days. Bumbles, Jammies' daughter, demonstrates just how fat you can get by drinking mini-mancha milk, especially if you are an only child and your mother is Jammies the candy goat.

Jammies is bred to our cousin Pepe, Betty's blue-eyed son, and somebody already asked if the babies would be for sale and the farmer said, yes, they would be available for one million dollars each, two million if they have perfect mini-Mancha ears like Jammies.

The S hocking Truth

Our farmer has been buying all kinds of fence chargers and they don't work like the old Sears fence charger that was built in 1974 and zapped like a charm until it finally gave out last spring. They don't make the parts for it any more so it went to the scrap heap. Since then there has been a Gallagher (PowerPlus! Good for 60 acres!) that wouldn't shock a flea, a Farmtek that would make you say "I think I feel something! There! That's it, isn't it?" And a Saaco that had enough juice to light the flashing light indicating that it was working correctly but not enough power to actually produce any shock at all of any kind.

Every time the farmer would go back to a different farm store and the farm clerk would explain why the fence charger didn't work, it was all because the farmer hadn't hooked it up right and all the voltage and amperage was flowing counterclockwise down the drain as if it were in the Southern Hemisphere where they have Christmas in July which would mean that it needed a better ground, with a minimum of 75 30-foot-long copper poles from NASA to work correctly.

"Oh really," the farmer would say. "Well how come the old one worked for 35 years with no problem?"

"Well," the farm clerk would say, and make a little French touche gesture, "they don't make them like they used to."

After the last episode the farmer said, "that's it," in complete disgust and now we have a charger that is rated to completely encircle Rhode Island three times. It is enough to hold Laddy and will probably hold Tommy. Willen will stay if the other two aren't going anywhere. Anyway, if you find an old Sears fence charger at a yard sale anywhere, please email us immediately.

In other farm news something far more shocking has happened to Big Orange. Big Orange used to be a high-kicking bucket-launcher. She was the bane of the milkroom. She was considered the Mayor of Crazy Town until the farmer started working in the city and the neighbor farmer started coming over to milk Big Orange. Somehow the neighbor turned Big Orange into an almost normal milker. So Crazy Town will need a new Mayor.

Luckily there are several deputy mayors waiting in the wings to take office.

Big Orange's granddaughter Pinky has been started in the milkroom even though she is not a milker just to keep her off the ballot.

In this photo she stuffs her face while Jimmy Jr., Jimmy's wether son, wanders mistakenly into the milkroom. No wethers allowed, Jimmy. Beat it.

The Cruel Twist

They had the Harvest Festival Farm Tour last weekend. This is where people go around our Peninsula looking at pumpkins and chickens. They track mud everywhere and park in the ditches.

The farmer came out to see if anyone might like to go and represent the goat kingdom at the neighbor's farm, which was on the tour. There was a big stampede out the back of the barn, led by everyone. Not even Tangy wanted to represent the goat kingdom.

"That is ok," said the farmer bitterly. "We don't need any of you. We have two nice goats from Minter Bay going."

And the farmer went off to help the farmer from Minter Bay who was bringing the two goats who had volunteered to represent the goat kingdom to the public. Only as usual the farmer forgot almost everything except one folding chair, so the farmer from Minter Bay who had gone to all the trouble of bringing the two "volunteer" goats also had to sit on a tiny postage-stamp sized chair that looked like something a hummingbird might perch on. That was while our farmer lounged on a full-sized comfy chair, not even looking apologetic.

Anyway the two volunteers were Filbert, Hannah Belle's son who has become a goat celebrity from last year's Harvest Fest where he got his picture on the front page of the paper. And George, aka Curious George, one of Alice's mini-mancha triplets from this summer. George is a baby and he put on a show of shivering and whimpering while Filbert chewed his cud in a blase fashion.

Filbert is known as a professional goat.

Anyway the public started coming and it turned out in a cruel twist of fate that Filbert once again was the Candy Goat. This means he was wearing a little pack and the pack was filled with candy. Good candy, like tiny Milky Way bars. Not sourballs wrapped in plastic and petrified candy corn.

So this made Filbert extremely popular. "Why don't you take a look and see what he has in his pack," the farmer from Minter Bay would say to the children, and they would look in the pack and give a little gasp of delight.

The people who owned the farm were selling animal treats for a quarter. So all the children had little sacks filled with peanuts and cracked corn and carrot slices. And they would all give Filbert something in exchange for their Milky Ways, so he had an excellent racket going, and spent most of the day licking his lips. That part was not the cruel twist.

The cruel twist was George, shivering and whimpering. He was the Trash Goat.

"Now don't forget," the farmer from Minter Bay would say. "When you finish your candy, put the wrapper in George's pack. He is the trash goat."

That is why I don't volunteer for any of these expeditions. Because even though I know someone gets to be the Candy Goat, I know there will also be somebody who gets to be the Trash Goat. And that is all the incentive I need to stay home.

LaMancha or Bedbug?

This is a picture of Maddy. She looks fairly normal but unfortunately she is crazy.

Hmm

Hello my name is Izzy. Million Belles is my mother. My brother's name is Ringo. I am two months old but hardly any attention has been paid to me since I was born which is odd because I am exceptional.

Anyway it's funny how people look at things and don't really see them because they have a fixed idea in their head and they can't change it just because it doesn't match reality.

The reason I mention it is all summer long people have been coming to look at the baby goats and the farmer always points to Terra, Hannah Belle's daughter, and says, "That's the pretty one." Or sometimes if Terra is having a bad hair day or an ungainly growth spurt the farmer points to Betty's daughter Iota and says, "That's the pretty one."

This went on all summer without fail, and sometimes the farmer wouldn't even remember my name but would say, "oh yes, there is another doe kid, that little black and white one there."

Anyway a couple of weeks ago was the state fair and for the first time in a long time the farmer did not take any goats. But on the day of the Nigerian show the farmer stopped by to watch. There were other farmers there too, and Gracie's and Zinnia's family was there from up the road, and the farmer from Minter Bay where my father the drive-through buck lives. And then there were also various goat big shots, and people who think they are big shots, and a lot of opinions were exchanged on which goats were the best goats.

But when everything was said and done and the Junior Champion was decided it was a goat named Not Quite An Angel. She is my father's full littermate sister.

Then there was a lot more parading and the senior champion was decided and it was a goat named Hardly An Angel. That's my father's mother. Then there was additional four-footed mincing and posing much to the chagrin of all the goats and the Champion Challenge was conducted and my father's mother won that too, beating Jackpot's mother and a goat named Rockette who had caused some of the spectator's eyes to goggle out of their heads. So my father's mother was Grand Champion and Best of Breed and Best Udder which is about all you can win unless you hit the bullseye in the shooting gallery, and then you can also get a life-sized stuffed bear.

Anyway when the farmer came home the farmer had a funny look and came right into the stall where I was jumbled up with a lot of other goats getting out of the rain, which has just started, and picked me up and held me up in the light and examined me closely and then said, "hmm," and put me down.

And every day since then the farmer has been coming back out and picking me up and petting me and saying, "Hmm," in a surprised way.

Anyway the way things were going I thought maybe my name got changed to "Hmm," but then a lady stopped by and asked which one was the pretty one and right away the farmer pointed to me and said, "Isabelle," oddly enough remembering my name right away.

"Oh is she for sale?"

"No," said the farmer. "Not any more."

Part Two

Ok, part two.

The grain hum went through the herd, and Hannah Belle set off up the hill. She took everyone down into the far corner of the front pasture where nobody ever goes, and she showed everyone a hidden hole under the fence next to the driveway.

All the little goats got through, and some of the mediums, and several of the bigs including Tugboat Tangy surprisingly, but Winnie couldn't make it so she stood on the other side bellowing until she reached the end of her attention span.

We hightailed up the driveway lest any helpful passersby see us and report us and pretty soon we were up by the cottage with Tangy breathing through her mouth from the exertion but occasionally still chanting "grain" as we all came up on the shed where the grape leaves grow through the fence.

It didn't take long to make them disappear.


Then Hannah Belle ordered everyone into the barn, where the grain was piled in 50 lb sacks. Everyone stared in amazement.

"Get to work!" yelled Hannah Belle, "We've got free rein!"

We knocked a bag from the top of the stack and then we all started pawing and chewing through the bag. Time is of the essence when you are bag-chewing. Since there wasn't room for everybody to chew the bag, a few of us waiting for the bag to be gnawed open went and knocked over every single thing in the barn that wasn't bolted down.


We made it through. We ate 48 pounds of cob before the neighbor farmer came to milk the milkers and caught us all red-handed.

All except one.

Hannah Belle somehow had managed to get back into the pasture.

She gazed in innocently as we were all stuffed into a holding cell to see when and if we would get sick.

"My goodness, what's going on?" her expression said. "Can I help with anything?"

"I hope you all enjoyed that grain," the farmer said later after hearing the report of what had happened. "because you won't be getting any more for a long time."

Free Rein

Well yesterday was Wednesday here, I don't know what it was where you are.

It was a bit glum and rainy and our farmer has not been paying much attention to us. This gives us free rein.

Some of us need attention because our opinions have not been taken into account lately what with the farmer driving up to the fancy job in Seattle almost every day and not minding the farm properly.

Last weekend there was goat show practice because Moldy and her daughter were supposed to go to the fair and Moldy did reasonably well considering the size of her brain but after the practice it was determined that Moldy really does not have enough milk to show well so all that practice was a waste and the time could have been better spent listening to some of the good ideas I have had lately which are many and numerous.

So anyway there was a rising tide. Of something.

Last weekend when we had free rein Hannah Belle showed us how to knock the plywood out of the gate panel so that we could go wherever we want. We trotted around freely in the horse pasture eating apples. The farmer said a few choice words and looked for the hammer briefly but then got distracted.

"Don't you worry, I am going to find that hammer and put the panel back in," the farmer said darkly. "maybe a little bit later. Or tomorrow."

We knew that wouldn't happen because after finding the hammer the farmer would have to find some nails, and even though lightning often strikes twice around here it's almost always in the spring. So we continued to do as we pleased. And you know how it goes, when you get in the habit of doing as you please, it only leads to more of the same.

Anyway yesterday when the farmer left for work we all poured out through the missing gate panel and helped ourselves to apples but before too long Hannah Belle said, "you know these apples are fine, I used to really like them, but there is grain in the barn."

Pinky Jr, is only able to comprehend a word or two here and there but she repeated: "Grain."

"Grain in the barn," Tangy intoned dully.

A low hum spread the herd: "Grain."

.........to be continued

The Rain......

.....Returned.

The Triumph of Moldy

Moldy has experienced a recent triumph and she won't stop talking about it.

One of her daughters won the reserve junior champion at the Kitsap County Fair.

The people who call it reserve champion are usually the people who win it. The other people call it SECOND PLACE.

Anyway Moldy has been fawning around with mock humility, telling everyone fifteen times about what happened as if the Kitsap County Fair is one step away from the Nobel Prize. Everyone flees when they see her coming.

All day long she has been trotting around on her little dachshund legs yelling "Guess what!" as the audience stampedes across the pasture to get away from her.

Thank goodness it has been decided that I will never have to go to a show unless there is a show for goats with good personality which in that case very few of the goats here would be eligible.

If you would like to see some of our goats at the Puyallup Fair Moldy will be there since it is not a personality fair. Tangy the bear of little brain has been there twice if that gives you an idea how little value they place on personality there. Also Ayatollah Winnie and Wronny Soprano.

Bad News, Good News

It is time for some goat news from around the world. And since the world includes Germany, we are including a link to this outrageous story about a goat who was kicked out of his new apartment by a German couple! How uncivilized! Just as he was settling in!

Ok, this story from Dallas ends a little better: a goat and his Great Dane friend, as well as their 3-legged retriever sidekick, get the treatment they deserve after a long and arduous struggle.

They Just Know

Usually when we hear the coyotes singing they just sing to each other, each to each, and they don't bother troubling us with their conversation.

But last night I was lying in my stall and I thought I heard one of the coyotes say, "Millie, why don't you come outside? Come outside, Millie, I want to show you something."

I thought it was just me or maybe I imagined it so I didn't say anything but when I got up in the morning Betsy and all the bigs were standing in a large clump instead of sprawling every which way like they usually do. Blue Umbrella and Betty had attached themselves to the clump. And so had Eo and the rest of the minis. So there was a big crowd of everybody standing inside an invisible fence that was built for about half as many goats as were in there.

"What is going on?" I asked Eo. As usual she said, "Why?" very pointedly, and went back to plotting to overthrow the government.

So I asked Pinky Jr.

"Nothing," said Pinky Jr. "We are all just standing together."

"Oh," I said.

"Because Atticus isn't here."

"Oh," I said. I did a little doublecheck to make sure Izzy and Ringo were right by me.

Just then the coyotes started singing. And sure enough, one of them called my name. In the broad daylight. Oh dear, I thought. I scooched all three of us inside the invisible fence.

"How do they know?" I asked Pinky Jr.

"Know what?" said Pinky, Jr., because she has a short attention span.

"Know Atticus isn't here."

Pinky Jr. shrugged. "They just know."

Good Night, Sweet Prince

There isn't enough room here or anywhere else for a complete list of noble deeds performed by Atticus. So this is only the tip of the iceberg, beginning with goats whose lives were saved:

Betsy (gazing fondly in a part-Nubian manner at large coyote until Atty appeared)
Hannah Belle (2x - once hanging upside down from fence, once stuck in gate requiring Jaws of Life. Atty called for assistance and remained with victim until aid arrived)
Marv (rolled under the deck when he accidentally got born outside in 20 degree weather. Atty would not stop barking)
Buttons and Cappy (born in the down-below shed, Atty would not let anyone in the door)
John and George (born in the pasture when no one was home. Atty escorted them throughout the day)
Mel (Atty lay by her for who knows how long while she was stuck in fence through her own stupidity)
Pinetop (foot trapped between deck boards, could not extricate self, Atty called for assistance)
Strange man came to farm, possibly selling firewood, and started yelling at the farmer for no apparent reason. Atty appeared from nowhere and grabbed the man's shirtsleeve in an encouraging manner, while gazing at the man intently and making a low rumbling noise like an earthquake in the distance. The man was encouraged to stop yelling and get in his car and drive away immediately.
Intervened on behalf of his elderly friend Rocky the Raccoon.
Lay outside Snow Pea's stall for 6 hours when she was crying because she had to stay inside alone.
Allowed baby goats to use him as a trampoline.
Did not kill Wendell, again and again. Repeatedly did not kill Wendell.

Too much more to list. Too many things.

We hope he is on a mountaintop covered with snow somewhere, where it never gets too hot, and the baby goats have nice soft hooves, and the dinner is served on time, and there is a little cave he can lie in, and look out over his domain.

A Terrible Quiet

Just when the wings of time got started again, there is nothing we can do but stop them.

Atticus had a sore paw and it seemed to go away and then a couple of days ago it got much worse, and he could hardly walk. He was huffing in pain whenever he limped anywhere. Today he went to the vet. The farmer was awfully worried he might have a nail in his paw but there didn't seem to be any way it could have gotten in.

But the farmer kept thinking: what if he has a nail in his paw? What then? He will have to wear a special boot. Maybe the saddlemaker over by the county line can make a special custom boot for him.

They took the x-rays and he didn't have a nail in his paw. He had bone cancer. And he was too big for them to do anything. A Pyrenees cannot walk on three legs. Especially not one as magnificent as Atticus.

And so today on a beautiful summer afternoon, Atticus went out of this world.

And the farmer came home alone from the vet.

And now all over the farm there is a terrible quiet.

I had no idea it could ever be so quiet.

The Gossamer Wings Etc

First of all I am very annoyed. Our farmer got a job in the city and would not write the blog for me. Everything passed unremarked as if it never happened. The kids, the hay, the unfortunate incident with the tractor, the thing that happened where Atty injured his paw, Wendell's shocking incontinence. Nothing entered into eternity on the gossamer wings of my blog.

THIS GOAT'S LIFE stood still.

The lettuce bolted to the size of a Christmas tree and nobody picked it. The farmer only wanted to sleep when not driving back and forth to Seattle to work at the stupid job which has nothing to do with Nigerian Dwarf dairy goats. This was very selfish.

My children Ringo and Izzy did not get fully documented as they should have been. This was not correct. That little brown one whatever his name is, Jimson Weed I think, hardly got documented at all but that's fine, who cares, he is just a little brown goat. Also Cherry's crazy little bunny rabbit daughter did not even get a name yet. That's how bad it was. When she gets a name it will probably be something like "Cherrybunny" or "Bunnybing" which is just sad.

The neighbor lady had to come and milk the milkers. Actually the neighbor lady did a much better job than our farmer but nobody mentioned that. Big Orange even got used to the neighbor lady.

The horses got tremendously fat from eating constantly and never getting any exercise. The neighbors from Longbranch had to come and put all the hay in the barn. Four hundred bales. That was completely unheard of. The idea of someone else putting your hay in the barn. It's shocking. They don't even have neighbors like that in the city. They only exist in the country.

Well anyway now there is going to be a big party. For the end of summer. There will be fiddlers. Or at least one fiddler. Unless the fiddler cancels.

But anyway. Time will start flapping its gossamer wings again.

Soon.

Ringo

This is a picture of my son Ringo. He is a good son but I prefer Izzy, and I was also feeling kind of drained, so I suggested for Ringo to go and drink some milk from Cherry or Jimmy. Jimmy had a little son on Saturday I think. I wasn't really paying attention because it was kind of boring. Jimmy is brown and her son is brown so it was really too much brown to concentrate on.

Jimmy is not part Nubian, though, so that didn't really work out because she was able to discern that Ringo wasn't her son, even though he is much better looking than her actual son, no offense that is just a fact, so he didn't get any Jimmy milk. Cherry is part Nubian, though, so he gets plenty of milk from her. Cherry's little daughter doesn't need much milk anyway because she looks like a bunny rabbit. And the rabbit is not a dairy animal.