We have a goat named Pinky. And we have a goat named Pinky Jr. And just to show the breadth of imagination at work here, we also have a goat named Binky. None of these names are their real names. They all have real names on their papers but nobody knows what they are any more. Once the farmer was at a show and the announcer came on the loudspeaker in the barn and announced the reserve champion, Moonshine Yarrow, and the farmer wondered who that was, because the farmer thought that one of our goats had been the reserve champion and we even had the ribbon to prove it, but oh dear maybe someone was on the way to confiscate the rosette. And then someone passing by said congratulations and the farmer realized that Moonshine Yarrow was actually Tangy.
"Oh, that's right."
But anyway we have a Pinky and a Pinky Jr. and a Binky. Blue Jaye's two little daughters are getting bird names since she has a bird name and one is called Diamond Dove and the other is called Dollarbird. Dollarbird is a wisecracker, it's plain to see already, she is always chewing on a little piece of straw in the corner of her mouth and everyone calls her Dinky Dollarbird, which sounds like an outlaw name, which she definitely is, and she is also very small, she is this year's Crumpet, which last year's Crumpet doesn't like at all. Dinky Dollarbird could easily be a cartoon character, she has blue eyes and wattles growing right under her ears.
But of course after you say Dinky Dollarbird five times you start to feel a little less syllabic and pretty soon it's just Dinky, which someone suggested as a name in the D contest.
Clover's little daughters are Derringer (she is a pistol) and the other one might be Polka Dot, she is all black with a white dot on her head and another on the tip of her tail. She is extremely sweet, not a pistol at all.
Sandy's little son is just called Sandy's little son, he has four caramel-colored boots and big Hello-Kitty Oregonian eyes. Jessie's little son would also be called Sandy's little son, but that name is taken. So he is called Jessie's little son, even though he is exceedingly fat.
Maybe later on one of them could get an official name, something like Finky. Or Ginky. Or possibly Rinky or Kinky. Minky would also work. Or Tinky. We might save Sinky for later, and Winky is too good to use right away. Pinky the Third has not been used as far as I know.
The ideas just keep coming. It's amazing.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Not Today
Brandy has gotten really old and now that she is a teenager she has a habit of nodding off in the pasture and when she does she usually does a face plant into the grass so that when you look at her you think, swing low sweet chariot. Here comes the band of LaMancha angels you think, and if you had a hat on you would take it off and hold it over your heart.
But anyway she is 13 and she is just sleeping, and she is also deaf as a post so when the farmer yells, "BRANDY!" she continues sleeping until the farmer trots up and grabs her shoulder and then she startles awake and plucks her head up, and her face is usually plastered with blades of grass, and it takes a few seconds for her eyes to swim back into focus, really it makes you wonder what she has been dreaming, and then she shakes her head in annoyance and the day goes on.
Then there is Spenny and she is 16 and she is the same, she sleeps 23 hours a day and if anything she is deafer than Brandy. Out of the blue we hear the farmer roaring: "SPENNY!" And then the day goes on. Then we see the rudely awoken Spenny on her constitutional, circling the house arthritically, five times like clockwork, after all she may be old but she is still a border collie, before going on to another power nap.
Tommy aka Tomba aka Tomba-la-Bamba the horse is 26 but he doesn't go in for all-day sleeping, it isn't his cup of tea, and he isn't deaf either. He is just thin when he used to always be fat but otherwise you wouldn't know he is a dinosaur.
Anyway a day doesn't go by that we don't hear "BRANDY!"
Or "SPENNY!"
And then we hear a little snort. And then we hear the farmer again, in a normal voice: "Not today."
Some other day, maybe. But not today.
But anyway she is 13 and she is just sleeping, and she is also deaf as a post so when the farmer yells, "BRANDY!" she continues sleeping until the farmer trots up and grabs her shoulder and then she startles awake and plucks her head up, and her face is usually plastered with blades of grass, and it takes a few seconds for her eyes to swim back into focus, really it makes you wonder what she has been dreaming, and then she shakes her head in annoyance and the day goes on.
Then there is Spenny and she is 16 and she is the same, she sleeps 23 hours a day and if anything she is deafer than Brandy. Out of the blue we hear the farmer roaring: "SPENNY!" And then the day goes on. Then we see the rudely awoken Spenny on her constitutional, circling the house arthritically, five times like clockwork, after all she may be old but she is still a border collie, before going on to another power nap.
Tommy aka Tomba aka Tomba-la-Bamba the horse is 26 but he doesn't go in for all-day sleeping, it isn't his cup of tea, and he isn't deaf either. He is just thin when he used to always be fat but otherwise you wouldn't know he is a dinosaur.
Anyway a day doesn't go by that we don't hear "BRANDY!"
Or "SPENNY!"
And then we hear a little snort. And then we hear the farmer again, in a normal voice: "Not today."
Some other day, maybe. But not today.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Bassmaster
~~~ Lifeboats Part 2 ~~~
The next morning the farmer comes out and starts feeding. The farmer notices that Binky is opening her mouth and doing the donkey bray of alarm. Only no sound is coming out. She is too hoarse.
"That's odd," says the farmer.
"Peep," screams Binky, sounding like a distant mouse.
Binky has a bag of milk the size of Rhode Island.
"That's odd," says the farmer.
"Peep," Binky mute-bellows.
Finally a glimmer goes on in the farmer's eyes. The farmer trots over and looks under the porch and can't see anything. The farmer gets the tractor and turns the tractor lights on and aims them under the porch. The farmer can't see anything. The farmer gets down and wiggles a few feet under the porch and re-adjusts the tractor lights and off in a distant dark completely inaccessible under-porch area sees a faint glimmer of one of Binky's babies - the pale sundgau stripe on one of his black cheeks.
Binky is on the loose now and running all around the porch silent-screaming. Occasionally she gets a faint heroic peep out.
The farmer calls the babies. Nothing. The farmer puzzles. The farmer gets on top of the porch and looks down through the floorboards and is able to locate the baby spot, just beside the workbench where the farmer has been cutting boards for the new fence gates. The farmer gets the air compressor and points the nozzle through the crack in the floorboards, about a quarter inch wide. The farmer turns the compressor on, blowing air on the babies. The purpose of this idea remains mysterious; in any case the babies don't move.
"Hmm," says the farmer.
The farmer tries a couple of other bad ideas. Then the farmer gets a good idea. The farmer picks up the phone and calls the neighbor, a mechanical genius.
Within a few minutes the neighbor has arrived and fashioned a ten foot long baby goat fishing pole out of pvc pipe, some bolts, and a foot long metal hook designed for holding hoses. The neighbor crawls a few feet under the porch, deploys the fishing pole skillfully, hooks the sundgau baby, and pulls him out, inch by inch.
The baby emerges, blinking, covered with dirt, spider webs, and sawdust blown down on him through the porch floorboards by the air compressor.
"I wonder how he got all that sawdust on him," says the neighbor.
"That's strange, isn't it," says the farmer.
While the first baby is drinking a gallon of milk the second baby comes out on her own.
For no reason at all Binky gazes at the farmer with admiration as the two babies empty her bag of milk in record time.
The next morning the farmer comes out and starts feeding. The farmer notices that Binky is opening her mouth and doing the donkey bray of alarm. Only no sound is coming out. She is too hoarse.
"That's odd," says the farmer.
"Peep," screams Binky, sounding like a distant mouse.
Binky has a bag of milk the size of Rhode Island.
"That's odd," says the farmer.
"Peep," Binky mute-bellows.
Finally a glimmer goes on in the farmer's eyes. The farmer trots over and looks under the porch and can't see anything. The farmer gets the tractor and turns the tractor lights on and aims them under the porch. The farmer can't see anything. The farmer gets down and wiggles a few feet under the porch and re-adjusts the tractor lights and off in a distant dark completely inaccessible under-porch area sees a faint glimmer of one of Binky's babies - the pale sundgau stripe on one of his black cheeks.
Binky is on the loose now and running all around the porch silent-screaming. Occasionally she gets a faint heroic peep out.
The farmer calls the babies. Nothing. The farmer puzzles. The farmer gets on top of the porch and looks down through the floorboards and is able to locate the baby spot, just beside the workbench where the farmer has been cutting boards for the new fence gates. The farmer gets the air compressor and points the nozzle through the crack in the floorboards, about a quarter inch wide. The farmer turns the compressor on, blowing air on the babies. The purpose of this idea remains mysterious; in any case the babies don't move.
"Hmm," says the farmer.
The farmer tries a couple of other bad ideas. Then the farmer gets a good idea. The farmer picks up the phone and calls the neighbor, a mechanical genius.
Within a few minutes the neighbor has arrived and fashioned a ten foot long baby goat fishing pole out of pvc pipe, some bolts, and a foot long metal hook designed for holding hoses. The neighbor crawls a few feet under the porch, deploys the fishing pole skillfully, hooks the sundgau baby, and pulls him out, inch by inch.
The baby emerges, blinking, covered with dirt, spider webs, and sawdust blown down on him through the porch floorboards by the air compressor.
"I wonder how he got all that sawdust on him," says the neighbor.
"That's strange, isn't it," says the farmer.
While the first baby is drinking a gallon of milk the second baby comes out on her own.
For no reason at all Binky gazes at the farmer with admiration as the two babies empty her bag of milk in record time.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Last Call for the Lifeboats
Ok Crumpet lives by herself in the horse pasture now. She has a secret squeeze hole no one else can get through and she squeezed through and now she lives under one of the cable spools, like a little troll.
She decided to move there because that pasture is centrally located with access to the barn, the horse feeders, the fat girl pasture, and the coddled pregnant Nigerian ladies' pasture. These are all places where two meals a day are served and Crumpet eats some of every meal and if you are keeping track that is eight meals a day plus tips.
The tips are the farmer actually lets Crumpet inside the feed chute to clean up any spilled grain after the fat girl feeding. So really that is nine meals a day. I know what you are thinking: has she gotten any bigger. Well maybe half an inch.
Anyway Wronny had her triplets and Binky had her twins and Jessie had a little single and then Sandy had a single and then Bing had twins and so did Blue Jaye and the farmer went to let some of the babies out for the first time because the babies like to go outside and eat some dirt as soon as possible, I don't know why, it probably puts some good local germs in their stomachs and it was decided that the big babies would go out.
So out went Wronny and Binky and Jessie and their kids. Now since time began the kids go out and if it is a warm day eventually they go under the porch of the cottage to take a nap where it is cool and safe. And that's what happened.
All the babies eventually toddled off under the porch and went to sleep. An hour clicked by and they started coming back out for a milk refill. Fredwina and Doxie and Ramona bunny-hopped out. Jessie's little son came out about twenty minutes later.
Another hour went by and Binky started giving her donkey bray of alarm. This is similar to her donkey bray of comprehension only much louder and filled with gloom and horror.
The farmer did not notice. The farmer was preoccupied because Crumpet had been running in and out everywhere, step-dancing on the hayloft stairs and t-boning Wronny's triplets because they are the only goats she has ever seen that are smaller than she is. Of course these were all hit-and-run jobs because Crumpet knows what would happen if Wronny caught her t-boning a triplet.
Binky continued her donkey bray of alarm.
"We are going to have to get a tape of that," the farmer murmured absently. "Surely there is a contest somewhere for the best end-of-the-world donkey bray of alarm."
The farmer did some chores and pottered about mislaying things and forgetting to fill the water and getting the feed buckets ready.
Binky took her donkey bray of alarm up a notch. It sounded like the last call for the lifeboats on the Titanic.
"That is really something," said the farmer. By this time everyone had had dinner and was put to bed, with Crumpet back under her spool and darkness falling. Wronny was tucked in with her triplets, and Jessie's little son was asleep under the hay feeder. Binky stood at the gate braying desperately.
"You are really upset about something aren't you Binky," said the farmer, patting Binky.
Binky bellowed.
"I know there is a lot going on for you," said the farmer, using techniques learned at middle management school.
Binky did not go to middle management school and she was not placated. She bellowed hoarsely.
"Well, good night everybody," said the farmer, and turned off the lights.
~~~to be continued ~~~~~
The tips are the farmer actually lets Crumpet inside the feed chute to clean up any spilled grain after the fat girl feeding. So really that is nine meals a day. I know what you are thinking: has she gotten any bigger. Well maybe half an inch.
Anyway Wronny had her triplets and Binky had her twins and Jessie had a little single and then Sandy had a single and then Bing had twins and so did Blue Jaye and the farmer went to let some of the babies out for the first time because the babies like to go outside and eat some dirt as soon as possible, I don't know why, it probably puts some good local germs in their stomachs and it was decided that the big babies would go out.
So out went Wronny and Binky and Jessie and their kids. Now since time began the kids go out and if it is a warm day eventually they go under the porch of the cottage to take a nap where it is cool and safe. And that's what happened.All the babies eventually toddled off under the porch and went to sleep. An hour clicked by and they started coming back out for a milk refill. Fredwina and Doxie and Ramona bunny-hopped out. Jessie's little son came out about twenty minutes later.
Another hour went by and Binky started giving her donkey bray of alarm. This is similar to her donkey bray of comprehension only much louder and filled with gloom and horror.
The farmer did not notice. The farmer was preoccupied because Crumpet had been running in and out everywhere, step-dancing on the hayloft stairs and t-boning Wronny's triplets because they are the only goats she has ever seen that are smaller than she is. Of course these were all hit-and-run jobs because Crumpet knows what would happen if Wronny caught her t-boning a triplet.
Binky continued her donkey bray of alarm.
"We are going to have to get a tape of that," the farmer murmured absently. "Surely there is a contest somewhere for the best end-of-the-world donkey bray of alarm."
The farmer did some chores and pottered about mislaying things and forgetting to fill the water and getting the feed buckets ready.
Binky took her donkey bray of alarm up a notch. It sounded like the last call for the lifeboats on the Titanic.
"That is really something," said the farmer. By this time everyone had had dinner and was put to bed, with Crumpet back under her spool and darkness falling. Wronny was tucked in with her triplets, and Jessie's little son was asleep under the hay feeder. Binky stood at the gate braying desperately.
"You are really upset about something aren't you Binky," said the farmer, patting Binky.
Binky bellowed.
"I know there is a lot going on for you," said the farmer, using techniques learned at middle management school.
Binky did not go to middle management school and she was not placated. She bellowed hoarsely.
"Well, good night everybody," said the farmer, and turned off the lights.
~~~to be continued ~~~~~
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Binky Loves the Sky
Binky had a stomach ache and she went to lie down and she accidentally had two kids, a buck and a doe, they shot out like champagne corks. Pop-pop, presto. Those are their names. Poor Binky, she did not know she was bred.
"Whaaat?" she said.
"That's why you are in the barn, Binky, instead of in the fat girl pasture where you usually are," I told her.
"Whaaat?" said Binky. Poor Binky, she does not know what 'barn' means.
"It is the big white building all around you," I explained. "You are in the middle of it, in a stall."
This what I told her might as well have been The Dead Sea Scrolls read aloud in the original Hebrew.
"Whaat?" said Binky. Poor Binky. How can she understand 'building' when she doesn't understand 'barn.' How?
While she was distracted Pop-pop and Presto advanced on her and began drinking milk and she gave a loud donkey bray which is Binky's signal of comprehension.
"I have two kids!" she yelled at me. She was delighted. "Do you know where they came from?"
I did not have time to try to explain, so Eo took over.
"From the sky," snapped Eo, drily.
"I love the sky!" Binky brayed.
Later that day Bing had two kids and after they were up and running they went to share Binky's stall.
We all heard Binky braying with delight again a few minutes later. "I have two more kids!"
"Whaaat?" she said.
"That's why you are in the barn, Binky, instead of in the fat girl pasture where you usually are," I told her.
"Whaaat?" said Binky. Poor Binky, she does not know what 'barn' means.
"It is the big white building all around you," I explained. "You are in the middle of it, in a stall."
This what I told her might as well have been The Dead Sea Scrolls read aloud in the original Hebrew.
"Whaat?" said Binky. Poor Binky. How can she understand 'building' when she doesn't understand 'barn.' How?
While she was distracted Pop-pop and Presto advanced on her and began drinking milk and she gave a loud donkey bray which is Binky's signal of comprehension.
"I have two kids!" she yelled at me. She was delighted. "Do you know where they came from?"
I did not have time to try to explain, so Eo took over.
"From the sky," snapped Eo, drily.
"I love the sky!" Binky brayed.
Later that day Bing had two kids and after they were up and running they went to share Binky's stall.
We all heard Binky braying with delight again a few minutes later. "I have two more kids!"
Wednesday, May 08, 2013
Fredwina's Guide to Getting Born, or, Meet the Mashed-Up Hand
Ok if you are planning to get born you may not know how to do it so this is a guide on getting born or anyway this is how I did it yesterday. Ok first of all wait for an inconvenient time when there is an important appointment or something like that. Ok then stick your head out, just your head. It will be light out, lighter than inside anyway.
What you will see is a red-faced farmer and what you will hear is a farmer cussing.
"Damn it," the farmer will say. "A head and no feet! Damn it!"
Then the best thing is close your eyes but if you don't you will see a big mashed-up hand coming toward you and it will push against your nose and your whole face and the lights will go out and you will find yourself sliding back inside in the dark but if you listen closely you will still be able to hear the cussing.
"&#&%$%#!!!!" (muffled)
Then you will feel the mashed-up hand groping around and grabbing one of your legs and the mashed-up hand will bend your joints just to be sure they all bend in the same direction like a front leg should and then the hand will pull your leg up over your head which isn't very comfortable. Then the hand will grope around for another leg and then the next thing you know the mashed-up hand starts pulling you out by the legs and unceremoniously sticking its fingers in your nostrils to use them as a handle for pulling your head around. And cussing of course, but absent-mindedly by now.
All at once you will start to hear a lot of heartfelt bellowing and this is your mother congratulating you on the size of your head as it passes through her birth canal and the next thing you know you are out and about and everyone is waiting on you hand and foot and the limelight is blinding and the milk is delicious but hold the phone, all of a sudden you are yesterday's news, because "here comes the next one," says the farmer, "get some more towels."
So that's how you do it. My name is Fredwina. Do I look like I was born yesterday? That's because I was.
What you will see is a red-faced farmer and what you will hear is a farmer cussing.
"Damn it," the farmer will say. "A head and no feet! Damn it!"
Then the best thing is close your eyes but if you don't you will see a big mashed-up hand coming toward you and it will push against your nose and your whole face and the lights will go out and you will find yourself sliding back inside in the dark but if you listen closely you will still be able to hear the cussing.
"&#&%$%#!!!!" (muffled)
Then you will feel the mashed-up hand groping around and grabbing one of your legs and the mashed-up hand will bend your joints just to be sure they all bend in the same direction like a front leg should and then the hand will pull your leg up over your head which isn't very comfortable. Then the hand will grope around for another leg and then the next thing you know the mashed-up hand starts pulling you out by the legs and unceremoniously sticking its fingers in your nostrils to use them as a handle for pulling your head around. And cussing of course, but absent-mindedly by now.
So that's how you do it. My name is Fredwina. Do I look like I was born yesterday? That's because I was.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
The Iron Baby
Crumpet has refused to grow and when the farmer went to measure her against the scratch on the tack room door from February there was no point in making a new scratch because it would have been in the same place as the February scratch. But nonetheless her personality is getting bigger and bigger and pretty soon there will not be enough room in her body for it.
For some reason when a tiny goat has the personality of a tyrant which Crumpet does everyone seems to think it is adorable.
"Oh look at the little one! It is t-boning that big one's knee! Ha ha ha!"
Yes, very funny, I guess these people have never heard of a torn ACL. She is also a fast runner and has developed a system of escape holes that no one else can fit through. You would have better luck finding Nemo than catching Crumpet. So she does a lot of hit and runs. She is also so low to the ground that any attempted return t-bonings can result in a head injury to those seeking justice. Pinky demonstrated this the other day. Or maybe that is not a head injury.
Anyway there is only truly one way to describe Crumpet. She is a handbagger. If anyone was wondering where the spirit of Margaret Thatcher the Milk Snatcher went, it is right here, alive and well, and wreaking havoc.
For some reason when a tiny goat has the personality of a tyrant which Crumpet does everyone seems to think it is adorable.
"Oh look at the little one! It is t-boning that big one's knee! Ha ha ha!"
Yes, very funny, I guess these people have never heard of a torn ACL. She is also a fast runner and has developed a system of escape holes that no one else can fit through. You would have better luck finding Nemo than catching Crumpet. So she does a lot of hit and runs. She is also so low to the ground that any attempted return t-bonings can result in a head injury to those seeking justice. Pinky demonstrated this the other day. Or maybe that is not a head injury.
Anyway there is only truly one way to describe Crumpet. She is a handbagger. If anyone was wondering where the spirit of Margaret Thatcher the Milk Snatcher went, it is right here, alive and well, and wreaking havoc.
Handbagger
Margaret Thatcher, who always had a large handbag at her side, was actually the source of the term “handbagging,” which now appears in the Oxford English dictionary. A member of British Parliament once said that Thatcher couldn’t “look at a British institution without hitting it with her handbag,” and the expression stuck. Today, it is defined as the “verbal and psychological beating of one’s opponents,” and it is formally recognized as having been named after Margaret Thatcher.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Double Toothpicks
We have a lot of ratchet straps here. If you have the right number and the right kind of ratchet straps you can tie anything down. Really anything. A barn or a tugboat or anything. There is a certain kind of person who really likes to tie things down. This includes a lot of farmers.
This type of person will have a process for tying things down and probably a set of homemade load binders and if you stand too close to this type of person during certain times of the year - hay season, usually - the person may just spontaneously start describing how they tie things down. You will have to move a safe distance away to avoid this. Pretend you have seen a flock of hummingbirds in the distance and just move discreetly out of range, with your eyes fixed on the horizon.
During the hay season our farmer always surveys the other trucks in the field to make sure that none of them are getting more bales on their truck than we are. If one of them is, the farmer will mutter, "well, that is a flatbed," or, "they won't get home with that load." By way of introduction the farmer may walk up to newcomers in the hay field and ask innocently, "how many bales can you get on your truck?"
Once the answer came back, "65," and the whole day was ruined because it is a known fact that Brownie's world record is 63 bales of hay. That is if we have good hay monkeys - teenage boys, usually - and the right kind of ratchet straps. If the farmer is loading alone that number drops in half.
On the other hand once there was a man with a shiny new truck that looked like it cost about $50,000 and he told the farmer proudly that he was able to get 16 bales of hay on his truck and the farmer spent the rest of the day chuckling fondly.
Wendell chuckled too, he is a yes man, every time the farmer said, "Sixteen bales!"
Anyway I am only thinking about tying down because yesterday there was an unexpected bonanza. When the farmer went to the feed mill a shipment of peas had come in out of season.
We did not know there were going to be peas. When the peas came out to the feeders, all hell broke loose. Usually we are supposed to keep the Hell tied down, double toothpicks and all, with the twin ratchet straps of a tough herdqueen and a predictable routine. Or at least part of the way tied down. But there is no herdqueen who can hold the herd when unexpected peas arrive.
And the ratchet strap has not been made.
So it broke loose. Way loose. Completely loose. All of it.
This type of person will have a process for tying things down and probably a set of homemade load binders and if you stand too close to this type of person during certain times of the year - hay season, usually - the person may just spontaneously start describing how they tie things down. You will have to move a safe distance away to avoid this. Pretend you have seen a flock of hummingbirds in the distance and just move discreetly out of range, with your eyes fixed on the horizon.
During the hay season our farmer always surveys the other trucks in the field to make sure that none of them are getting more bales on their truck than we are. If one of them is, the farmer will mutter, "well, that is a flatbed," or, "they won't get home with that load." By way of introduction the farmer may walk up to newcomers in the hay field and ask innocently, "how many bales can you get on your truck?"
Once the answer came back, "65," and the whole day was ruined because it is a known fact that Brownie's world record is 63 bales of hay. That is if we have good hay monkeys - teenage boys, usually - and the right kind of ratchet straps. If the farmer is loading alone that number drops in half.
On the other hand once there was a man with a shiny new truck that looked like it cost about $50,000 and he told the farmer proudly that he was able to get 16 bales of hay on his truck and the farmer spent the rest of the day chuckling fondly.
Wendell chuckled too, he is a yes man, every time the farmer said, "Sixteen bales!"
Anyway I am only thinking about tying down because yesterday there was an unexpected bonanza. When the farmer went to the feed mill a shipment of peas had come in out of season.
We did not know there were going to be peas. When the peas came out to the feeders, all hell broke loose. Usually we are supposed to keep the Hell tied down, double toothpicks and all, with the twin ratchet straps of a tough herdqueen and a predictable routine. Or at least part of the way tied down. But there is no herdqueen who can hold the herd when unexpected peas arrive.
And the ratchet strap has not been made.
So it broke loose. Way loose. Completely loose. All of it.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
May I Have This Askance?
Well a couple of weeks ago we had a nice weekend and the temperature got up in the 60s. And then after that everything went sideways, with hail and sleet and wind and nighttimes almost freezing. But Moldy for some reason as soon as we had one nice day she thought she was back in Lagos or something because she shed her whole coat out way too far to the point of being practically bald. Anyway I thought that was her own fault and it might be a good opportunity for her to learn a lesson but the farmer started looking around for a jacket for Moldy. But Moldy has not missed many meals and her circumference is too big for a regular Nigerian jacket and too small for a big goat jacket.
So this gave a good opportunity for a Vocabulary Day. It is always good to learn new words, especially if you are part Nubian where learning a new word can practically double your vocabulary. Don't worry, you Nubians out there, I am not going to ask you to do any math problems, but if someone in the future asks you what double means it means twice as much (2 banana peels instead of one).
Anyway: Askance.
adv. With an attitude or look of suspicion or disapproval. Suspiciously, doubtfully, dubiously, skeptically, disapprovingly, distrustfully, mistrustfully.
used in a sentence: "When Moldy appeared out of nowhere tippy-toeing along on her little dachshund legs in a royal blue jacket two sizes too small, Willen looked at her askance."
So this gave a good opportunity for a Vocabulary Day. It is always good to learn new words, especially if you are part Nubian where learning a new word can practically double your vocabulary. Don't worry, you Nubians out there, I am not going to ask you to do any math problems, but if someone in the future asks you what double means it means twice as much (2 banana peels instead of one).
Anyway: Askance.
adv. With an attitude or look of suspicion or disapproval. Suspiciously, doubtfully, dubiously, skeptically, disapprovingly, distrustfully, mistrustfully.
used in a sentence: "When Moldy appeared out of nowhere tippy-toeing along on her little dachshund legs in a royal blue jacket two sizes too small, Willen looked at her askance."
Thursday, April 04, 2013
Tadpole Jubilee
Okay there was a switch. The whole Jammies family except Jinxy and the whole Moldy family came down here in our pasture. My mother came back down here too. The Blue family came also and the Betty family.
Wronny Soprano stayed where she was so was so Abby and I were able to have the full-blown smackdown we have been planning for years. We started the smackdown one on one and it went really well and then my daughter Izzy joined me and the tide turned immediately but then Moldy came in on the Abby side and the tide turned back and my mother Belle Pepper came in and then Pebbles put a head in on the Moldy side and all in all it was a top-rated smackdown, certainly the best smackdown in years, but just when it was reaching its peak Maddy the Sheriff of Crazytown raced past with Eo hot on her heels in a state of apoplectic rage.
Now Eo never makes a sound and rules through mind control and spraying the fear on everyone and how you can tell she is in a state of apoplectic rage, as opposed to her usual state of seething rage or her slightly elevated state of simmering rage is that her ears will go back like a horse when it is about to kick someone. Anyway Maddy breezed past us, as they say at the racetrack, and Eo was hot on her heels, with her ears back and Game of Thrones written all over her face in bold gothic type.
A word about Maddy, just one word: crazy. Here is how Maddy operates: when she is up with the bigs she cowers and scrapes and can hardly get a bite to eat. The farmer is constantly having to take her out and give her special food and feed her on her own so that she doesn't get thin as a rail and she is also super picky and often will stand on the milkstand with her special meals picking out the corn from the feeder and then tossing the oats and barley on the floor and when the farmer sees this the farmer's ears will go slightly back like a horse about to kick someone and little puffs of smoke will come out the farmer's ears and then we usually will get to hear one of our favorite speeches, either the "Is This the Thanks I Get?" speech or the "Do You Know How Much Grain Costs These Days?" speech.
But then if Maddy goes in with little goats or even babies she turns immediately from abject coward to world's biggest bully and delights in nothing more than t-boning unsuspecting Nigerians which there aren't very many unsuspecting Nigerians but now and then she finds one. So anyway the farmer thought it would be a good time to put Maddy in with the smalls since there was a big change happening anyway and probably nobody would notice her etc which we probably never would have what with our excellent smackdown but of course the farmer neglected to consider our fearless leader Eo whose radar goes all the way to the ground and possibly even deeper than that so there is absolutely no way to get under it.
Maddy did not get two steps into our pasture before Eo was on her tail. Elbie and Too, the mini-manchas, joined the parade. We dropped our smackdown and joined. Even Moldy ran a few steps on her dachshund legs before yelling, "That's Right! You Heard Me!" and lying down to catch her breath. The parade raged over hill and dale, with the mini-manchas' tongues hanging out, and Maddy loping tirelessly - she has a lot of practice running - and after a while we decided to drop out for the hilly parts and catch up on the flat runs, but Eo ran with gimlet eyes, her fury never never dimming, always two steps behind Maddy. NOT IN MY PASTURE.
It was definitely a case of tadpoles' revenge. If you get enough tadpoles you can rout a whale, especially if the tadpoles have a leader like Eo. After about twenty highly aerobic minutes the farmer gave up and opened the gate to let Maddy out, and then closed the gate on Eo, two steps behind.
Maddy turned around when she was sure the gate was tightly closed, and she was probably thinking of saying something, but when she saw the look in Eo's eyes she could not think of any remarks that would really suit the occasion. So she scampered off and the rest of the day was a tadpole jubilee.
Wronny Soprano stayed where she was so was so Abby and I were able to have the full-blown smackdown we have been planning for years. We started the smackdown one on one and it went really well and then my daughter Izzy joined me and the tide turned immediately but then Moldy came in on the Abby side and the tide turned back and my mother Belle Pepper came in and then Pebbles put a head in on the Moldy side and all in all it was a top-rated smackdown, certainly the best smackdown in years, but just when it was reaching its peak Maddy the Sheriff of Crazytown raced past with Eo hot on her heels in a state of apoplectic rage.
Now Eo never makes a sound and rules through mind control and spraying the fear on everyone and how you can tell she is in a state of apoplectic rage, as opposed to her usual state of seething rage or her slightly elevated state of simmering rage is that her ears will go back like a horse when it is about to kick someone. Anyway Maddy breezed past us, as they say at the racetrack, and Eo was hot on her heels, with her ears back and Game of Thrones written all over her face in bold gothic type.
A word about Maddy, just one word: crazy. Here is how Maddy operates: when she is up with the bigs she cowers and scrapes and can hardly get a bite to eat. The farmer is constantly having to take her out and give her special food and feed her on her own so that she doesn't get thin as a rail and she is also super picky and often will stand on the milkstand with her special meals picking out the corn from the feeder and then tossing the oats and barley on the floor and when the farmer sees this the farmer's ears will go slightly back like a horse about to kick someone and little puffs of smoke will come out the farmer's ears and then we usually will get to hear one of our favorite speeches, either the "Is This the Thanks I Get?" speech or the "Do You Know How Much Grain Costs These Days?" speech.
But then if Maddy goes in with little goats or even babies she turns immediately from abject coward to world's biggest bully and delights in nothing more than t-boning unsuspecting Nigerians which there aren't very many unsuspecting Nigerians but now and then she finds one. So anyway the farmer thought it would be a good time to put Maddy in with the smalls since there was a big change happening anyway and probably nobody would notice her etc which we probably never would have what with our excellent smackdown but of course the farmer neglected to consider our fearless leader Eo whose radar goes all the way to the ground and possibly even deeper than that so there is absolutely no way to get under it.
Maddy did not get two steps into our pasture before Eo was on her tail. Elbie and Too, the mini-manchas, joined the parade. We dropped our smackdown and joined. Even Moldy ran a few steps on her dachshund legs before yelling, "That's Right! You Heard Me!" and lying down to catch her breath. The parade raged over hill and dale, with the mini-manchas' tongues hanging out, and Maddy loping tirelessly - she has a lot of practice running - and after a while we decided to drop out for the hilly parts and catch up on the flat runs, but Eo ran with gimlet eyes, her fury never never dimming, always two steps behind Maddy. NOT IN MY PASTURE.
It was definitely a case of tadpoles' revenge. If you get enough tadpoles you can rout a whale, especially if the tadpoles have a leader like Eo. After about twenty highly aerobic minutes the farmer gave up and opened the gate to let Maddy out, and then closed the gate on Eo, two steps behind.
Maddy turned around when she was sure the gate was tightly closed, and she was probably thinking of saying something, but when she saw the look in Eo's eyes she could not think of any remarks that would really suit the occasion. So she scampered off and the rest of the day was a tadpole jubilee.
Monday, March 25, 2013
By the Gate
Some people get tired of their mother when they get to be big. They forget about all the milk their mother gave them. This would be understandable if their mother was Winjay who did nothing but bite their ears. Other than that it is mysterious. Anyway I am just mentioning this because it just occurred to me.
I guess it occurred to me because my mother Belle Pepper got a little too thin and she went up to the big barn to go on fattening. I did not get too thin unfortunately so I am still down in the fat girl pasture. By this time of year at the end of the winter nobody in the fat girl pasture is really fat any more but it is still called the fat girl pasture which is mysterious.
Anyway I am standing by the gate. My daughter Izzy is standing by me. She stands where I stand. We are waiting. We were crying for a while, about two days, but now we are just standing. Izzy was only crying because I was crying. She cries when I cry.
Anyway everyone else is down in the cabana which is still slated to be demolished but only if it doesn't fall down first and it is going to be a close race because now every little windstorm we have a few more pieces fall off the cabana and by this time it makes the average desperate hovel look like something from the pages of Martha Stewart Living but that is ok, I like to live someplace with an airy feel and it definitely has an airy feel what with the wind blowing in from all directions but that is not really what I am talking about today.
Some of these fancy expensive barns do not have an airy feel is all I am saying. Maybe you should ask yourself does my barn have an airy feel or are all my goats standing outside it lined up head to tail under the overhang to get out of the rain because they do not want to go inside. That is one thing you could put on your list of questions to ask yourself when you have time. Also you should ask yourself why am I buying this cheap hay when the expensive hay tastes so much better?
Anyway I am waiting by the gate because in a few minutes the farmer is going to start feeding us. The gate is as close as I can get to the big barn. Then everyone else will rush up from the cabana and the inside goats will rush out and we will all feed along the fenceline with Eo the boss of the fat girl pasture hogging as much food as possible and on the other side Moldy and Abby will be seething along one side of the line with Betty and Jammies seething along the other side. The minions and underlings will sort themselves out.
Usually I like to eat as much as possible and I am good at getting my share, I am not a wallflower like Blue or Joy, I know how to elbow my way to the front, but I will worry about that later today because right now I am standing by the gate and I won't do anything until I see my mother Belle Pepper come out. Then I will feel a lot better and I will go and hog some food.
I know she is going to come out. But anyway I am just going to stand by the gate until she does.
I guess it occurred to me because my mother Belle Pepper got a little too thin and she went up to the big barn to go on fattening. I did not get too thin unfortunately so I am still down in the fat girl pasture. By this time of year at the end of the winter nobody in the fat girl pasture is really fat any more but it is still called the fat girl pasture which is mysterious.
Anyway I am standing by the gate. My daughter Izzy is standing by me. She stands where I stand. We are waiting. We were crying for a while, about two days, but now we are just standing. Izzy was only crying because I was crying. She cries when I cry.
Anyway everyone else is down in the cabana which is still slated to be demolished but only if it doesn't fall down first and it is going to be a close race because now every little windstorm we have a few more pieces fall off the cabana and by this time it makes the average desperate hovel look like something from the pages of Martha Stewart Living but that is ok, I like to live someplace with an airy feel and it definitely has an airy feel what with the wind blowing in from all directions but that is not really what I am talking about today.
Some of these fancy expensive barns do not have an airy feel is all I am saying. Maybe you should ask yourself does my barn have an airy feel or are all my goats standing outside it lined up head to tail under the overhang to get out of the rain because they do not want to go inside. That is one thing you could put on your list of questions to ask yourself when you have time. Also you should ask yourself why am I buying this cheap hay when the expensive hay tastes so much better?
Anyway I am waiting by the gate because in a few minutes the farmer is going to start feeding us. The gate is as close as I can get to the big barn. Then everyone else will rush up from the cabana and the inside goats will rush out and we will all feed along the fenceline with Eo the boss of the fat girl pasture hogging as much food as possible and on the other side Moldy and Abby will be seething along one side of the line with Betty and Jammies seething along the other side. The minions and underlings will sort themselves out.
Usually I like to eat as much as possible and I am good at getting my share, I am not a wallflower like Blue or Joy, I know how to elbow my way to the front, but I will worry about that later today because right now I am standing by the gate and I won't do anything until I see my mother Belle Pepper come out. Then I will feel a lot better and I will go and hog some food.
I know she is going to come out. But anyway I am just going to stand by the gate until she does.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
A Day in the Life of the Weaner Society: Making Up for Lost Milk
Well the time came and the last of the last year's babies went on long-overdue weaning. This was Crumpet, Crayola, and Jinxy. They were separated from their mothers and the mothers heaved a huge sigh of relief and immediately began stuffing themselves to try to make up for lost ground.
I thought there would be an Almighty Oregonian racket but there was hardly a peep among the weaners it was almost like they knew they had already had way too much milk. Anyway the weaners settled down together and as always happens a little society formed with Crumpet as the President and Jinxy as the Vice President and Crayola as the factotum.
Crayola is Crumpet's air mattress, and so at night time the President waits patiently while Crayola lies down first. Then when Crumpet has picked which side she wants to lie against, Jinxy goes around to the other side and plumps Crayola up a little and then she lies down. And then in the morning Crumpet gets up and then Jinxy. And finally Crayola the air mattress.
Then Crumpet and Crayola scuttle over to the feeder and jump in because that's where the food will be served and Jinxy scurries to a nearby spot in anticipation of the impending hay and grain. She is a little too fat to actually get in the feeder any more. Then they scarf their breakfast with alarming rapidity.
Then they catapult themselves outside for the day, where there is more food, and scarf their brunch with alarming rapidity. Then the same thing when the hay comes out in the middle of the day, then the same thing at night when they gallop on their little cat's feet back to the barn, where the feeders have been refilled. You should see them bellied up to the dish, it is quite a sight, throwing the food to their stomachs like golden retrievers.
Their motto is the same as North Carolina's, and if they had little license plates on their rear ends which they probably should, the license plates would say: The Weaner Society: First in Feedom.
Sic Semper Weaners.
I thought there would be an Almighty Oregonian racket but there was hardly a peep among the weaners it was almost like they knew they had already had way too much milk. Anyway the weaners settled down together and as always happens a little society formed with Crumpet as the President and Jinxy as the Vice President and Crayola as the factotum.
Crayola is Crumpet's air mattress, and so at night time the President waits patiently while Crayola lies down first. Then when Crumpet has picked which side she wants to lie against, Jinxy goes around to the other side and plumps Crayola up a little and then she lies down. And then in the morning Crumpet gets up and then Jinxy. And finally Crayola the air mattress.
Then Crumpet and Crayola scuttle over to the feeder and jump in because that's where the food will be served and Jinxy scurries to a nearby spot in anticipation of the impending hay and grain. She is a little too fat to actually get in the feeder any more. Then they scarf their breakfast with alarming rapidity.
Then they catapult themselves outside for the day, where there is more food, and scarf their brunch with alarming rapidity. Then the same thing when the hay comes out in the middle of the day, then the same thing at night when they gallop on their little cat's feet back to the barn, where the feeders have been refilled. You should see them bellied up to the dish, it is quite a sight, throwing the food to their stomachs like golden retrievers.
Their motto is the same as North Carolina's, and if they had little license plates on their rear ends which they probably should, the license plates would say: The Weaner Society: First in Feedom.
Sic Semper Weaners.
Friday, March 08, 2013
Patchy Morning Frogs
It is a good thing I wasn't thinking anything, or maybe I was, because the way the frogs are singing now you cannot hear yourself think from dusk to dawn, even if you are thinking aloud as Pinky likes to do because if she didn't think aloud how would she know what her thoughts were. What is she anyway some kind of mind reader? Some kind of part-Nubian mind reader? Some kind of what? What is she? Who's calling, please? Ribbet. Nothing but ribbet.
None of us would ever tell her what her thoughts were, since they mostly run along the lines of, "t-bone Abby," "eat more alfalfa," "t-bone Betty," "eat more grain," etc. So what with the frogs for the last few nights Pinky has been standing around in a daze unable to communicate with herself and leaving a big space at the feeder which Blue makes a point of filling.
"T-Bone Crayola," Pinky reminds herself.
Then, "what?" "speak up!" Then nothing.
Bless the frogs, the moonlight frogs and the patchy morning frogs and all the mighty-hearted loudmouthed little frogs. Bless you.
Speaking of Crayola, just like Sandy she has turned super-sweet. She isn't conceited like Crumpet, she is just a little humblebee. That's good because she isn't in the Baby Belle family so she has no business getting all full of herself, like Crumpet the Grand.
Our spring is coming on, no doubt, the frogs know what they are doing, they do not call a false spring, that is not how they operate.
Some day soon we will have a farewell party for the mud. We will do it British style, with cheery optimism, Goodbye Mud, off you go, here's your trilby and your wellies, sod off now and good riddance, you dirty brown chap!
None of us would ever tell her what her thoughts were, since they mostly run along the lines of, "t-bone Abby," "eat more alfalfa," "t-bone Betty," "eat more grain," etc. So what with the frogs for the last few nights Pinky has been standing around in a daze unable to communicate with herself and leaving a big space at the feeder which Blue makes a point of filling.
"T-Bone Crayola," Pinky reminds herself.
Then, "what?" "speak up!" Then nothing.
Bless the frogs, the moonlight frogs and the patchy morning frogs and all the mighty-hearted loudmouthed little frogs. Bless you.
Speaking of Crayola, just like Sandy she has turned super-sweet. She isn't conceited like Crumpet, she is just a little humblebee. That's good because she isn't in the Baby Belle family so she has no business getting all full of herself, like Crumpet the Grand.
Our spring is coming on, no doubt, the frogs know what they are doing, they do not call a false spring, that is not how they operate.
Some day soon we will have a farewell party for the mud. We will do it British style, with cheery optimism, Goodbye Mud, off you go, here's your trilby and your wellies, sod off now and good riddance, you dirty brown chap!
Sunday, March 03, 2013
One Year Later
In case you were wondering, no. We didn't forget you.
Herron Hill Hannah Belle
6/22/2004-3/3/2012
Friday, March 01, 2013
Camera Hog
Crumpet thinks that the whole world is her red carpet and sometimes it gets pretty annoying. Like in this video Crumpet is supposed to be working the same as everyone else, peeling sticks for the kindling pile. But all she can do is stare into the camera. Am I on? Is this recording? Hello? Hello? Let's talk about me for a while. Me, moi, Crumpet.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Peas and Carrots
The farmer went away yesterday and today we got a long pointed lecture on the subject of "Taking Advantage."
How would we like it if someone took advantage of us? Would we think that was so all-fired hilarious? Would we?
This is all on account of the farmer making the same mistake over and over. When the farmer goes out of town the farmer tells the guest feeder, just put the feed in the stalls and out in the back paddock and open up the gates and they will all run in and they will go into their separate stalls where the feed is and then all you have to do is close all the gates and then go take a nap, it as as easy as peas and carrots. The main thing is just be sure to stand back out of the way so you don't get run over because they pick up quite a little head of steam when they are running toward their dinner. The steam part is true, I admit that.
Well Lori was the guest feeder yesterday and she had just bought a new car and that used up most of her wits and she was looking a little bit haywire from overexposure to car salesmen by the time she got here, and I have to say when you see someone looking haywire you can't always necessarily stay on the straight and narrow and somehow all of us at the same time decided to go the extra mile. And so instead of going into any of our stalls properly like the farmer had guaranteed some of us ran a diversion stampede toward the feed room and some went part way up the stairs and some went into the stalls and then ran right back out and some galloped toward the alfalfa stack like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and before long Lori had to call for reinforcements and the way she was looking I was frankly surprised that she could still operate a cellphone.
Well it turned out that she was calling the kindly neighbor who has already seen every goat trick in the book so the joke was on us and before long we were all latched inside the stalls - not necessarily our own stalls -- where we had time to reconsider our activities.
And sure enough, the lecture we got this morning was long and sorrowful and filled with withering pauses. The farmer hoped we were happy.
"We are," said Cherry.
"Yes," agreed Abby.
And the farmer hoped we would think about what we had done.
"I'm not going to," said Betty.
"Me neither," agreed Winjay.
"I don't have time for that," said Big Orange. "I think I might be coming in heat."
How would we like it if someone took advantage of us? Would we think that was so all-fired hilarious? Would we?
This is all on account of the farmer making the same mistake over and over. When the farmer goes out of town the farmer tells the guest feeder, just put the feed in the stalls and out in the back paddock and open up the gates and they will all run in and they will go into their separate stalls where the feed is and then all you have to do is close all the gates and then go take a nap, it as as easy as peas and carrots. The main thing is just be sure to stand back out of the way so you don't get run over because they pick up quite a little head of steam when they are running toward their dinner. The steam part is true, I admit that.
Well Lori was the guest feeder yesterday and she had just bought a new car and that used up most of her wits and she was looking a little bit haywire from overexposure to car salesmen by the time she got here, and I have to say when you see someone looking haywire you can't always necessarily stay on the straight and narrow and somehow all of us at the same time decided to go the extra mile. And so instead of going into any of our stalls properly like the farmer had guaranteed some of us ran a diversion stampede toward the feed room and some went part way up the stairs and some went into the stalls and then ran right back out and some galloped toward the alfalfa stack like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and before long Lori had to call for reinforcements and the way she was looking I was frankly surprised that she could still operate a cellphone.
Well it turned out that she was calling the kindly neighbor who has already seen every goat trick in the book so the joke was on us and before long we were all latched inside the stalls - not necessarily our own stalls -- where we had time to reconsider our activities.
And sure enough, the lecture we got this morning was long and sorrowful and filled with withering pauses. The farmer hoped we were happy.
"We are," said Cherry.
"Yes," agreed Abby.
And the farmer hoped we would think about what we had done.
"I'm not going to," said Betty.
"Me neither," agreed Winjay.
"I don't have time for that," said Big Orange. "I think I might be coming in heat."
Monday, February 18, 2013
Unsung No More
Nobody ever hears anything about Sandy. Sandy is Pebbles' twin. She is the unsung twin. Sandy likes the background, that's where she lives her whole life. She is always trying to get into the background. Every now and then she is standing around in the background enjoying her anonymity and all of a sudden everyone surges around behind her for some reason, and then she has to scramble to get out of plain view.
She hates being in plain view, she is one of those goats who when you take a picture Pebbles or Cherry are standing with their nose on the camera lens, and Crumpet's head is trying to poke in from the bottom of the picture, and Moldy is lurching in and out of the frame as she jumps up desperately on her back legs to try to get attention, and Pinky is visible off in the distance galloping toward the camera - she didn't know there was going to be a photo shoot because she wasn't paying attention - and the tip of someone's tail is just disappearing from the side of the picture. The tip of the tail belongs to Sandy. We have pictures of one of Sandy's wattles, of her hock, of her tailtip, as she scurries to get out of focus.
Anyway yesterday something very strange happened, the farmer was doing back scratches and the usual petting hogs were clustered around, Jammies and Jinxy and Moldy and Pinky and etc, and out of the blue, Sandy came waddling up to be scratched. And she wouldn't leave, she did some very expert maneuvering to keep her pole position, and she had her back scratched for probably at least ten minutes.
Pinky was very stumped she did not even know who Sandy is, she didn't recognize her standing in the center of attention and she was so surprised she forgot to do any t-boning.
I know what is going on because I am an expert on the subject but an ordinary goat or an intellectual Nubian like Pinky would obviously be stumped. It's hormones. Sandy is bred to K, aka Promisedland Chaotic Bliss, and the hormones are poking their way through her shell of anonymity. Pretty soon she will be as friendly as a Girl Scout selling Thin Mints.
It's just a matter of time before she starts screaming for attention in Oregonian tongues.
She hates being in plain view, she is one of those goats who when you take a picture Pebbles or Cherry are standing with their nose on the camera lens, and Crumpet's head is trying to poke in from the bottom of the picture, and Moldy is lurching in and out of the frame as she jumps up desperately on her back legs to try to get attention, and Pinky is visible off in the distance galloping toward the camera - she didn't know there was going to be a photo shoot because she wasn't paying attention - and the tip of someone's tail is just disappearing from the side of the picture. The tip of the tail belongs to Sandy. We have pictures of one of Sandy's wattles, of her hock, of her tailtip, as she scurries to get out of focus.
Anyway yesterday something very strange happened, the farmer was doing back scratches and the usual petting hogs were clustered around, Jammies and Jinxy and Moldy and Pinky and etc, and out of the blue, Sandy came waddling up to be scratched. And she wouldn't leave, she did some very expert maneuvering to keep her pole position, and she had her back scratched for probably at least ten minutes.
Pinky was very stumped she did not even know who Sandy is, she didn't recognize her standing in the center of attention and she was so surprised she forgot to do any t-boning.
I know what is going on because I am an expert on the subject but an ordinary goat or an intellectual Nubian like Pinky would obviously be stumped. It's hormones. Sandy is bred to K, aka Promisedland Chaotic Bliss, and the hormones are poking their way through her shell of anonymity. Pretty soon she will be as friendly as a Girl Scout selling Thin Mints.
It's just a matter of time before she starts screaming for attention in Oregonian tongues.
Friday, February 15, 2013
D
It is a D Year. We have a ways to go, but because of the intellectual bankruptcy problem we need to start getting other people's ideas now so we can fill up the name cabinet before we need it. So this is where you will enter your D names. Only enter good ones we already have a lot of bad ones. Just fyi the work you do in this area will be thankless and in fact if you think of a really good name the intellectual bankruptcy coupled with the selective amnesia will probably result in the farmer taking credit for your idea which has already happened with a lot of my ideas but that's the way it goes.
D Names for the D Year of 2013:
1. Downton
2. Dollop
3. (your name here)
ps - also please do not steal any of the names that you see here that we are stealing from other people. These are our names and we do not want them stolen. It is hard enough stealing them in the first place. Thank you. And also remember we will need some belle names but they have to start with D. please do not enter dbelle the farmer already thought of that. also please be safe out there and avoid meteors.
D Names for the D Year of 2013:
1. Downton
2. Dollop
3. (your name here)
ps - also please do not steal any of the names that you see here that we are stealing from other people. These are our names and we do not want them stolen. It is hard enough stealing them in the first place. Thank you. And also remember we will need some belle names but they have to start with D. please do not enter dbelle the farmer already thought of that. also please be safe out there and avoid meteors.
Saturday, February 09, 2013
Marvelous Times
Our farmer is not getting any smarter. Yesterday our farmer was walking around marveling. I don't know if you know any farmers but if you do you have probably seen them marveling. Certain times of year especially they walk around marveling, I guess it is something similar to going in heat.
"Listen to that," they will marvel, "the frogs are already singing down in the pond."
"Oh my goodness, look," they will marvel, "the hummingbirds are back."
Or: "I'll be darned, new catkins on the willow tree."
Usually they marvel over something you noticed about a month ago.
Anyway yesterday our farmer just to show what I am up against was walking around marveling and said to Wendell, "for Pete's sake it is almost February."
Wendell goggled his eyes in amazement, he will marvel about anything if it is presented in the right tone of voice.
"NO!" he goggled. "IT"S IMPOSSIBLE!"
"Where does the time go, Wendell?" the farmer asked.
Wendell goggled in stupefaction, he did not even try to answer.
I will tell you where the time goes, it goes around in a circle and then it comes back. Sometimes it goes down a rabbit hole and stays there for a while. But then it goes around and comes back. if you don't know that what can I say. Haven't you noticed anything.
"Oh, Catkin," said the farmer, suddenly. "That would have been a good C name."
The farmer always thinks of good C names when it is a D year, this is in the nature of farmers I think, like marveling.
Anyway, that's all.
Oh p.s. there has been an uproar about Crumpet's t-shirt so she will get a t-shirt after all. Not right now. Probably when the swallows come back. Unless time goes down a rabbit hole. Then it will be later.
"Listen to that," they will marvel, "the frogs are already singing down in the pond."
"Oh my goodness, look," they will marvel, "the hummingbirds are back."
Or: "I'll be darned, new catkins on the willow tree."
Usually they marvel over something you noticed about a month ago.
Anyway yesterday our farmer just to show what I am up against was walking around marveling and said to Wendell, "for Pete's sake it is almost February."
Wendell goggled his eyes in amazement, he will marvel about anything if it is presented in the right tone of voice.
"NO!" he goggled. "IT"S IMPOSSIBLE!"
"Where does the time go, Wendell?" the farmer asked.
Wendell goggled in stupefaction, he did not even try to answer.
I will tell you where the time goes, it goes around in a circle and then it comes back. Sometimes it goes down a rabbit hole and stays there for a while. But then it goes around and comes back. if you don't know that what can I say. Haven't you noticed anything.
"Oh, Catkin," said the farmer, suddenly. "That would have been a good C name."
The farmer always thinks of good C names when it is a D year, this is in the nature of farmers I think, like marveling.
Anyway, that's all.
Oh p.s. there has been an uproar about Crumpet's t-shirt so she will get a t-shirt after all. Not right now. Probably when the swallows come back. Unless time goes down a rabbit hole. Then it will be later.
Friday, February 01, 2013
Here's Your Hat, Big Red Cow
Well everyone has lost interest in Crumpet and it seems her acronym is going to have to be changed to either TFMFGOTKP* or NAFAYT* but that is a story for another day and the day is yesterday because it is old news.
What happened is the winter kind of stopped here and it is 50 degrees and they say the sun is going to come out for two days. This has led to a frenzy of spring cleaning and de-dilapidation which means no matter where you stand a farmer comes along in a few minutes and says, "move over," or "stand somewhere else." Or "just look at this place," and shoves you out of the way, no please or thank you.
Wendell has moved up from attempted goat herding to actual cow herding and all his years of annoying yipping and ankle biting are finally paying off. There is a neighbor on the other side of the meadow and for some reason he can't or won't keep his cows in, a herd of big red blocky beef cows with a giant-headed bull, nothing dairy about them which hurts the farmer's eyes, over and over and over again they get out and come over here. They keep trampling the meadow and knocking our fence down and worst of all - causing the farmer to go tightlipped and beady-eyed - eating our grass, our precious grass without which we would have no Grass Babies or anything else.
This used to cause the farmer seven kinds of consternation but now as soon as they appear we hear the foghorn bellow - "WENDELL!!" - and out comes the world's most dangerous dervish, Wendell the pest, and before you know it those cows are stampeding back the way they came with a bug-eyed boston terrier yipping in ecstasy and running figure eights all around them. It isn't pretty the way he does it. But it works.
footnotes:
TFMFGOTKP* = The fourth most famous goat on the Key Peninsula.
NAFAYT* = Not as famous as you think.
What happened is the winter kind of stopped here and it is 50 degrees and they say the sun is going to come out for two days. This has led to a frenzy of spring cleaning and de-dilapidation which means no matter where you stand a farmer comes along in a few minutes and says, "move over," or "stand somewhere else." Or "just look at this place," and shoves you out of the way, no please or thank you.
Wendell has moved up from attempted goat herding to actual cow herding and all his years of annoying yipping and ankle biting are finally paying off. There is a neighbor on the other side of the meadow and for some reason he can't or won't keep his cows in, a herd of big red blocky beef cows with a giant-headed bull, nothing dairy about them which hurts the farmer's eyes, over and over and over again they get out and come over here. They keep trampling the meadow and knocking our fence down and worst of all - causing the farmer to go tightlipped and beady-eyed - eating our grass, our precious grass without which we would have no Grass Babies or anything else.
This used to cause the farmer seven kinds of consternation but now as soon as they appear we hear the foghorn bellow - "WENDELL!!" - and out comes the world's most dangerous dervish, Wendell the pest, and before you know it those cows are stampeding back the way they came with a bug-eyed boston terrier yipping in ecstasy and running figure eights all around them. It isn't pretty the way he does it. But it works.
footnotes:
TFMFGOTKP* = The fourth most famous goat on the Key Peninsula.
NAFAYT* = Not as famous as you think.
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