If It Rings, Don't Answer

Well today is Thanksgiving here. We have it on a Thursday. Right now it is gray and foggy but it isn't raining. So I guess we are thankful for that. Maddy the Chuckler aka the Sheriff of Crazytown went out of heat so I guess we are thankful for that. Her desperate yodels are really almost too much to bear. If you would like to get a headache just stand within five acres of Maddy when she is yodel-chuckling over to Fred.

Yodel-ha-ha, yodel-ha-ha, all day long.

What do you hear when you are trying eat your meager breakfast? Yodel-ha-ha.

What do you hear when you are trying to snooze in the winter sun? Yodel-ha-ha.

It is not a ringtone anyone would choose to download. Or is it? The Yodel-ha-ha ringtone?

Hmm, sometimes things are the opposite of what they seem, like Moldy's magical wishing powers, which seemed like a pain in the udder when we first discovered them. But it turns out we probably just weren't using them right. As you know, you must always use your superpowers for good, if you have any.

Perhaps this is also true of the yodel-ha-ha. Perhaps the yodel-ha-ha is a strange gift from Fifth Dimension, something to be thankful for, and we have just been looking it in the mouth with short-sighted criticality.

For today, just in case, we will be thankful for the yodel-ha-ha, the possible future ringtone that goes viral around the world and wins us a million dollars worth of alfalfa in the Best Ringtone Ever contest, causing me as a paragon of gracious humble dignity to give the most beautiful acceptance speech the world has ever known.

For tomorrow, maybe not.

Moldy Wishes, Caviar Dreams

Everyone is looking at Moldy with suspicious awe because as you know the other day Moldy looked out of the shed and said "I wish it would stop raining." This was in the middle of a downpour which we thought would probably last until about February.

She just came right out and said it, just like that. "I wish it would stop raining."

The next day it stopped raining. It has not rained since. They say it will not rain until AFTER Thanksgiving. They don't know anything, but still, that is what they say.

It has put us all on edge and we are tiptoeing around Moldy. Even Eo is giving her a wide berth. Yesterday Dinky Dollarbird, Blue Jaye's greedy little daughter, was elbowing around the feeder and she stuck her pointy head into Moldy who was busy stuffing her face and Moldy stopped eating for a minute and said, "I wish you wouldn't do that," and all of a sudden the Boston Terror who has been on strict probation leaped into view out of nowhere and nipped Dinky in the pastern and Dinky took off running and didn't come back until the breakfast was all gone.

Coincidence?

Later that day Rosie t-boned Moldy, trying to get her away from the new hay, and Moldy said calmly "I wish you would stop that," which Rosie ignored, taking a step back to get into a better t-boning position and her foot went into a pothole and she twisted it and fell down and she has been limping around ever since.

Another coincidence?

Eo is working on a plot to get Moldy to say, "I wish a ton of third cutting alfalfa would fall from the sky," but she wants to be sure to do it correctly so that she isn't standing underneath when the alfalfa plummets from the clouds. And so that it doesn't crash through the barn roof. Also she wants to make sure it isn't reject alfalfa, or alfalfa with cheatgrass in it. This is one of Eo's problems, she always considers too many angles.

Misfiring wishes could be a serious hazard, though. Who needs that kind of headache. The problem with Moldy is you can't control her, she might say anything.

Drawing Near

The CRUMPET t-shirts arrived early so we will do the drawing today at NOON PST. If you would like to assist Crumpet in her attempt to rule the world, you may do so here until 11:58 a.m. PST. May the Crumpetude be with you.

AND THE WINNER IS (chosen at random by the random integer generator) : P G from California!

CONGRATULATIONS P G!

Mainly on the Plain

We think it was Moldy who said it or it might have been Abby. Nobody in the Baby Belle family would have said it and a LaMancha would never say it, LaManchas come from LaMancha, which is in Spain where the "Man-of" also comes from, and LaMancha in case you didn't know is a high hot arid plain. Arid means dry in case you don't have a dictionary.

So anyway we think it was Moldy, back on that day in August when the flies were buzzing and the sun was beating down on our metal roof and the self-absorbed milkers were hogging all the good shade. We think it was her. She said "I wish it would rain."

And so now lo and behold we are once again up to our pasterns in mud and sitting around waiting for a "considerable" rainstorm with 100% chance of rain predicted. It is already raining, so that is how they know there is a 100% chance of rain.

Great, thanks, good job, way to go, Moldy. And here is the worst part. We are all sitting around the shed glaring at Moldy and of course she doesn't even notice it because she is from Oregon and she is lying around clueless as usual staring out the door at the mud awaiting us when we have to go and get our breakfast and then as if it isn't bad enough right out of the blue she says, "I wish it would stop raining."

Great! Perfect! Thanks, Moldy, we will appreciate that in August when the ground is cracked and the grass is all dead and brown and burnt to a cinder! Way to go, Moldy!

The Rainbow of Dibs

Okay this is the last post about the Crumpet t-shirts. The Crumpet t-shirts will be available soon in a rainbow of colors. That is if you consider a rainbow to be made of three muted colors, dull navy blue, olive-ish green, and drabby brown (the company calls it chocolate.)  Okay the Crumpet t-shirt is also available in a rainbow of sizes. That is if you consider a rainbow to be made up of the sizes M-L-XL or 2XL. We do not know that many small goat people so we did not order smalls when we sent the order in a couple of weeks ago.  That may have been a mistake.

They are organic t-shirts so will shrink slightly, "but not too bad" according to the printing company. The printing company is very optimistic about everything. That doesn't seem to bode well.  They probably don't even have any t-shirts. The farmer is going to put an order form up on the web site soon but there aren't very many shirts since they are bound to be unpopular so if you want one you better send a dibs. Just send an email to the farmer at herronhillATgmailDOTcom and say what size and color you want and say a backup color and size if the first one isn't available. If you did the link contest and you win your shirt will be free. They probably will end up costing about $15 which is a lot of money for a t-shirt and then on top of that you will have to pay the shipping which will probably cost a couple of dollars for your future dust rag but there is a lot of dust in this world so maybe that's ok. Or you could also use it as a buck rag, So there are a rainbow of uses, if you consider a rainbow to be made up of three uses (t-shirt, dust rag, buck rag).

Sample dibs for those confused by the rainbow of information:

I [YOUR NAME HERE] would like to dibs one DRAB GREEN [or DRAB BROWN or DRAB BLUE] t-shirt, size M [or L or XL or 2XL]. If DRAB GREEN is not available, please send me DRAB BROWN. If size L is all gone, please send me size M. When my order is confirmed I will send you a check or a PayPal or something. Thank you for considering my dibs. Faithfully yours in Crumpetude etc.

Winter Doldrums

Well the Crumpet Project has really taken off and the Crumpet t-shirt will soon be arriving. Can you imagine the excitement. We had a big windstorm and the roof blew off the baby buck shack and the baby bucks are in the barn until the farmer's back goes back into alignment and then their shed will be fixed and back down they will go. The hot wire got fixed in the front pasture and this put the kibosh on the free blackberries the milkers were eating on the neighbor's side of the fence. Willen kicked the front panel out of the horse run-in so the farmer has to go and get some more plywood to fix it.

"Thank you Willen," said the farmer. "I was wondering how I was going to spend all my free time and now I know." Willen kept a neutral expression on his face, always best to play it straight if you're not sure what's going on.

The Terror got put on strict lifetime probation for running down to the street and so now she never goes outside unless she is on her tie-out or attached to the farmer's belt loop. What a relief, no more ankle-biting.

The new Isabel is here and she has no personality whatsoever but at least she isn't from Oregon so we can understand her when she talks, which is never, because she is the retiring type and she spends most of her time under the feeder where she can't be t-boned by the Wrath of Khan which is Betty's new name now that she is in heat. When Betty is in heat she is the Wrath of Khan.

Speaking of heat Cherry came in heat also and she did her trademark part-Nubian caterwauling at the gate, just standing there all day playing the part-Nubian bagpipes and even forgetting to eat her dinner.

Abby my BFF decided to go in the front pasture with Pebbles, leaving me down below which is fine because it's much better here. But it hurts one's feelings. That's ok, I don't care, I have my daughter and my mother and that is really all I need.

"After everything you did for her," said my mother, shaking her head.

"She was a nobody until she met you," said my daughter.

"I'm ok," I said with gracious humble bravery, which is how I do everything.

The Crumpet Project

NEWS: There is an update to the Crumpet Project. Click here for more details.

Obedience and the Debt Ceiling

Well it finally happened. Crumpet came into heat. She went and stood by the fence outside Chaos' pen, and she talked to him about the debt ceiling. She told him how worried she was about the debt ceiling, on account of it being so near to the fiscal cliff, and even though goats are pretty good at walking up and down cliffs, she didn't know if she could walk on the ceiling. It would depend what kind of ceiling it was.

"Isn't it a debt ceiling?" blubbered Chaos.

"Isn't what a debt ceiling?" asked Crumpet, and then the whole conversation started again, and this went on three or four times in completely circular fashion and then finally the farmer hove into sight with the Terror a few inches behind and off went Crumpet, up to the big barn for incarceration purposes, and the last thing I heard was something about the Federal Reserve and the full faith and credit of the farm and the distant sound of the Terror yapping idiotically, and then there was just the blap of a door slamming shut and after that nothing but the sound of Chaos, standing by the fence, saying over and over into thin air: "isn't it a debt ceiling?"

Feeder Pest

The Terror is failing puppy obedience, it is only to be expected from such a wayward dog. There is supposed to be an exam this week but we already know what score she will get:

Heeling: F
Leaving Dropped Treats Alone on the Floor: F-
Down: F
Come When Called (Or Ever, for that matter): F
Sit: C

It is just not the kind of test she is going to be good at. The kind of test she would be good at would be:

Run Around Insanely Knocking Other Puppies Over: A
Pee on the Floor at the Most Inopportune Time (Carpets only, Linoleum Doesn't Count): A
Eat the Farmer's Glasses: A+
Sit in the Hay Feeder When We Are Trying to Eat, Biting our Noses When we put our Heads in: A

*

The blog has gotten very boring lately with a lot of drivel about goat shows. There has hardly been anything about Crumpet, who is still the most famous goat in the world even if nobody has ever heard of her. Crumpet has moved into the down-below goat shack, the one with the leaky roof, oh wait they all have leaky roofs, anyway the one where everyone who didn't go to the Fair lives. This includes Moldy, Blue, Jammies, Jinxy, Dinky Dollarbird, Blue Jaye, that one that nobody can remember her name if she even has one, and the other one that cries for no reason, just as a hobby.

The coyotes ate all the pears and so they have stopped creeping around our pasture at night which has stopped the farmer from hollering and shining the big spotlight and shooting off the .22 that no one can get aimed - "has this gun been sighted in?" everyone asks after they shoot it and miss by a mile, how surprising, usually they are like Daniel Boone and could shoot the hat off an acorn, must be something wrong with the rifle. Anyway it is a lot easier to sleep without gunfire or coyotes.

It is turning into fall very quickly and last week for a while it seemed like it might be January with the wind blowing a gale and great flapping sheets of rain. The farmer took Crumpet up to the barn for a ceremonial measuring and Crumpet had not grown at all. If you have any suggestions for making Crumpet grow, send them in. Licorice did not work. If she stays this shrunken she is going to go to puppy agility with the Terror, since carrying the candy pack is not a full-time job.

Eo has a new plan to take over the world but she won't tell anyone what it is. Be on the lookout though. She is not one to tangle with. Moony is now the size of a Shetland Pony and still drinking milk. The new buckling came and he is staying in the barn for a few days to meet his roommates and he smells like a bag of rotten fish that has been marinated in a barrel of cat pee and then left out in the hot sun for a few days. For this reason I went back down to the down-below pasture and my mother went with me. And Belle Starr too.

If we could get on Yelp we would do a barn review: one star, barn is nice but service is very slow and surly, and right now it smells like sardine-flavored cat pee. Proprietor does not seem to care. AVOID.

Enter the Dragon

The farmer went out of town and it poured. There was a lightning storm and the power went out. The tractor stopped running and the Terror had a potty training relapse, the worst kind of relapse there is. Laddy got stuck in the neighbor's chicken coop, he walked in there to steal some alfalfa that belongs to their goats and when he got in it was too narrow to turn around - it was one horse long but only about a half a horse wide, and when he tried to back out he kept banging his big butt against the wall so he stood there stamping and crying like a Nubian horse and he had to be extracted manually and just in the nick of time because it was plain to see that he had started thinking Kung Fu thoughts - "I could kick this whole place down," -  if thinking isn't too strong a word for the type of cerebral activity he is known for.

Anyway it was a long week and no one really enjoyed it except the farmer because the farmer was in Virginia where it was bright and sunny all day long every day, with the temperature around 80, and no chores to do except eat cake and lasagna. "I think I will have a little more," the farmer kept saying. The farmer came home fatter than ever, looking like a dry yearling who lives at a feedstore where the grain is free choice and the alfalfa buffet never closes.

It was decided the farmer would go on a spinach diet since the unharvested spinach was running amok in the garden after all that rain.

But just then the mail arrived and lo and behold! Two more big bags of black licorice! On the label the licorice was clearly addressed to me, it said "Millie Beautifulgoat," but the bags did not get delivered to me, instead they were shared among the masses, which is not legal when a bag is addressed to a specific goat. In fact I believe that kind of mail-tampering is a felony but no one listened to me, what a surprise.

The feast was back on, even Kung Fu Laddy got some. Sandy, the farmer's new pet, the goat formerly known as the Screamer, feasted three times a day on my licorice as she was milked on the stand to get her production up for the Fair.

"Why can't some of you be more like Sandy," the farmer said pointedly, looking at Clover and Clara Belle, not to mention Betty. Their production has gone to hell in a handbasket since the farmer went out of town. "You are going to look pretty ridiculous at the Fair with your little thimbles of milk."

Sandy simpered infuriatingly from the milkstand, she is just like her grandmother Moldy. She is as bad as Crumpet only worse. She puts Pebbles to shame. She gobbled five pieces of licorice in a row.

"I could kick this whole place down," said Eo bitterly, watching the black whips disappear.

Even Zinnia

Zinnia took a thrashing in the licorice contest and so we won the bet but we had no idea who we were betting against because if we did we would have bet a backhoe or a flatbed trailer with brakes that work or a new roof for the cottage because usually if the loser ever pays off a bet like that a few weeks go by and then a pocket-size bag of stale Twizzlers arrives and Wronny and Jessie hog them all and no one else even really cares, we look at each other shrugging, who cares those are stale anyway.


But that is not what happened. Almost the next day a huge box arrived on the FedEx truck and the farmer was pleased and said, "oh that is the new disposal," and carried the box up to the house, commenting absently to The Terror that "I thought it would be heavier." The box did not even get opened right away, that is how disposal-like it seemed, but when it did get opened it revealed what seemed like a hundred bags of top quality liquorice (with a Q.) It was an awe-inspiring sight, like a visit from the Dalai Lama or a truckload of third cutting alfalfa backing up to the barn.

We were all giddy with delight since it was decreed that the licorice would be shared amongst all the masses. "Even Zinnia," said Wronny. "Even Zinnia," we intoned reverently. And thus it was carried out but I think some of the bags disappeared into the farmhouse.

It is now the time for self-congratulation because if you don't congratulate yourself who will, so we extend our heartiest kudos to ourselves for being who we are, and we also congratulate Cora Belle the Horrible, who made it onto the Top Ten list, Pinky's daughter Tea who won the Skagit County 4H Fair, Chella's daughter Calico who made it to the state fair, Sammy the Terror who learned how to sleep through the night without peeing, Sandy the Screamer who has quietened down and become a real milker - head down in the feed dish with no questions asked, Spenny the angel-saint-dog who has never offered to even snap at the Terror. And we also pre-congratulate ourselves on the upcoming State Fair where even if we win nothing we will have a really good time. We are who we are.

God Bless Us Every One. Even Zinnia.

And They're Off

Well the Super Bowl smackdown finally came on the schedule and Zinnia the Ninnia aka the Beady-Eyed Sourpuss was turned out in the milker pasture with Wronny. She went out there with her two kids, A.J. and Edie, who are inexplicably sweet and adorable although I guess it is not that inexplicable since Chaos is their father.

Okay, first of all, confidence: what is it? Is it stealing lunches from little kids? Is it t-boning the slow-witted? Is it sneaking up behind an intelligent, kindly, extremely correct (except for the chandelier udder) Nigerian and biting its ear while it is trying to take a nap? That's right, Zinnia, I am talking to you. The answer to all these questions, especially the last one, is no.

Confidence comes from deep within the rumen of the true herdqueen. Confidence is its own reward. Confidence is like a little bird that flies NORTH for the winter. WHY NOT TRY SOMETHING NEW? Confidence babbles happily like an Alpine brook; it knows its way down the mountain. Confidence is the peace that passes understanding, like a bucket of warm Cherry trance-milk. Ommmm. Confidence lies sleeping in the sun, because there is no need to get up.

Getting up is exactly what Wronny did not do when Zinnia swaggered into the milker pasture radiating what she thought was confidence. Oh Wronny saw her, but really, some things really do not merit one's personal attention. Wronny flicked an eye over at two of her underling lieutenants, Elbie and Schwinnie, and they took off like a shot - yes, My Queen! - in Zinnia's direction.

Zinnia quivered out one last swagger and then realized too late that her confidence was really arrogance. Her brain shut down in a flood of panic. She wheeled and ran. And ran.

And ran, with the portly Hounds of Hell warm - Hot burns too many calories - on her heels.

Wronny yawned and went back to sleep. Ommm.

Losers please send licorice (black.)

c/o Millie
Herron Hill Dairy
Home Wa 98349.

Thanks.

The Staring Circle

It has been a beautiful August here, no rain except a few sprinkles and not too hot, only in the 80s or so and sometimes in the 70s. The farmer got out the clippers and has systematically been shaving the fair candidates to see what is in there under all that hair. Blue Jaye was shaved and she looked beautiful but she isn't making much milk. Clara Belle also looked beautiful. Clover did too.

Marti was shaved and sometimes she looks pretty good, sometimes she has the topline of a brontosaurus. She just keeps rising like a loaf of bread dough and she can't always be punched down. One day the rear is too high, the next day the front, the third day she looks good.

Sandy was shaved and she looked surprisingly good except for her head, which looks like a miniature donkey's head, with a wattle on each side only one wattle is under her ear where it is supposed to be and the other kind of dangles lopsidedly along her neck which isn't a good look. Also they aren't the same size, one is a grape and one is more of a ping pong ball. When everyone saw what Sandy looked like under her hair we cleared a small circle around her for staring and now she travels around with her own little buffer zone, the staring circle, which no one ventures into.

"Oh dear," said Abby, when she saw her daughter Sandy in her hairless glory. Pebbles did not get shaved because she did not settle so she won't be going to the fair. Pebbles is the pretty twin. Sandy is the unsung twin, and there was quite a chorus of unsinging when she came out of the cutting salon in the barn.

"Is she adopted?" asked Crumpet. Crumpet is one of Sandy's little sisters.

Derringer, one of Clover's daughters, also got a haircut. "Hmm," said the farmer, when Derringer came prancing out.

This does not bode well for Derringer. Usually when the farmer says "Hmm," the farmer then says,  "I don't expect her to come in last." And sure enough, a few minutes later the farmer remarked to The Terror as Derringer went pronging back to the Pear Tree Pasture, "I don't expect her to come in last."

The Terror was busy eating hoof clippings and didn't say anything.

For Derringer, sadly, this probably means a lifetime of goat shows, unless she has the good sense to grow her udder out in the shape of a chandelier, which is what I did, and I have never been anywhere near a ferris wheel and I wouldn't know an elephant's ear from a corn dog.

Anyway the farmer allowed that we might get a couple of ribbons at the fair.

"Especially since we have a secret weapon this year," the farmer explained to The Terror.

The Terror was asleep by now, and didn't say, "Secret Weapon? What Secret Weapon?"

We Are The World

A funny thing happened and that was we almost forgot about Moldy coming from Oregon. In fact the other day Crumpet scoffed when someone told her Moldy was from Oregon. Moldy is Crumpet's grandmother.

"Moldy was here the day I was born. She has been here her whole life."

I guess Crumpet thinks the world sprang into existence on the day she arrived. The whole planet was made specially for her, even the alfalfa and the leaves on the trees, and before she was born it was just all stuffed into a closet somewhere or the trunk of someone's car, no need for it. But when she was born Snap, same day delivery, get The World out of the trunk, Crumpet is here. And don't forget Moldy.

Which just goes to show how delusional she is when we all know that the world would have started when Baby Belle was born years ago, back when there was no Oregon, only Walla Walla and the Key Peninsula. 

That is what Izzy was explaining to Crayola when she got t-boned into the side of Winnie's shed by one of the LaMancha yearlings, one of the fat ill-mannered ones, oh wait they are all fat and ill-mannered. Anyway the LaManchas insisted that the world started in Port Orchard, just north of here, because that's where Brandy was born.

I guess there is some truth to that, so we will include that in our history book if we ever write it, that when the world started there was only Walla Walla, the Key Peninsula, and Port Orchard. That seemed settled until little Marti, the great-granddaughter of our old scatterbrained Stacy said "what about the Nubians?"

Because it's true, the Nubians were here, scatterbrained Stacy and beautiful kind Marti, when the world began, so we really ought best to include them in the history book, at least in the foreword if there isn't room for them in any of the more interesting chapters, so that is what we will do.

"But where did the Nubians come from?' asked Crumpet, and this was a puzzler that stumped even the Nubian crosses themselves and there was a long silence until someone said, "Mars I think."

That sounded right so we took a note of it. 

Walla Walla, The Key Peninsula, Port Orchard, Mars. Thus it is written.

The Main Event

Clover was able to t-bone the Terror as it was doing some fancy scurrying around the apple tree. It scurried right into her, looking behind at Clara Belle and practically t-boning itself, although Clover took the credit. Of course the Terror gave a yelp and the farmer came running to pick it up. So that is good, we scored one point, our first. It did not go to the grain bin afterward, which is odd. I hope this doesn't mean there is a new policy banning grain gorging as the treatment of choice for those with hurt feelings.

Crumpet has flopped out as a show goat and as a milk goat and her piano playing lacks artistry to say the least, so the farmer is going to make her the new ambassador goat and she will have to go around to Harvest Tours and things like that wearing a little backpack stuffed with tootsie rolls which Filbert used to do as the official Candy Goat before he got well and truly sick of it. Sad news for Crumpet. Oh well, somebody has to do it.

Zinnia whose name is really Zenyatta had the two surprise kids, Chaos kids, and she is very pleased because now she has a private stall in the barn and she gets special food. She is one of the Brandy style parents, always hovering and taking umbrage at real and imagined threats to her darling drab tots. She tried to t-bone the Terror but the Clover incident had already taught it to use its side mirrors and it dodged spryly out of the way, laughing.

The two new babies have their father's personality, which is nice for everyone since Zinnia is a beady-eyed sourpuss who thinks she owns the whole peninsula.

The appearance of the Zinnia twins means that there is an epic smackdown on the horizon: in a couple of weeks Zinnia will go out with the milkers and she and Wronny will come head to head and I don't know who will win but I do know I want a ringside seat. It will be a real Category 5 Goatnado.

Just my opinion, but it will be a cold day in Honolulu when the Sourpuss takes the Soprano.

Two Tiny Boats Against the Current

The Terror inspects Eau-de-vie, Brandy's great-great-granddaughter, and appears to find her satisfactory. We have learned that the Terror is supposed to be called "Sammy."

Sammy and Edie.

The Water of Life

Plan B we decided was to wait and see as far as the Boston Terror goes. We can wait. Just try to wait us out some time and see who wins. We can wait.

Because time will tell. Time always tells.

Time told us that Pebbles wasn't going to kid because she was due a week ago and she hadn't done anything and since she was the last one on the kidding chart the farmer rolled up all the baby towels and took them inside until next year.

And time told us that Brandy would not be with us much longer which we knew anyway since she was several hundred years old but still one of the farmer's favorites, who knows why. Yesterday she was just so tired so she had a lot of special treats and several apples, which she loves, sliced thin and fed by hand and her spirits were good and she wasn't in pain but she wouldn't get up.

"Will you get up, Brandy?" the farmer asked. But she wouldn't get up.

Today was the day.  In the morning she ate a few apple slices, and had a shot of vitamins and a shot of banamine in case she was in pain. The farmer sat with her and petted her along the neck, which she usually doesn't allow.  Brandy drank a quart of warm water with electrolytes, which made the farmer think she would rally.

"She is a tough old bird," the farmer said to the Boston Terror. The Boston Terror goes everywhere with the farmer.

The farmer got up to go do some more chores and Brandy woke with a start and called after the farmer and the farmer turned around and looked back at Brandy for a long minute. One of those looks between two old friends where only they know what it means.

Then the farmer turned away and went up to look for the paint rollers. And when the farmer came back she was gone.

That ought to be the end of the story. But it isn't. It never is.

The farmer went and started digging a grave for Brandy and the ground was so hard and dry - we have hardly had a drop of rain since June - that the farmer soon had to stop.  The farmer dragged the hose over and ran some water into the ground to try to soften it and then started digging again and then hit a shelf of hard clay and had to stop again and this went on for a while and then in spite of always hating to cause people any trouble the farmer left a message for the kindly neighbors with the backhoe and before long they arrived and lickety split they had the nicest grave dug and that may sound like cold comfort but there is something to be said for a really nice grave, especially for a herdqueen like Brandy.

Well just as Brandy was being laid to rest with an apple and a handful of dandelions there was a distant peeping cry from across the other side of the pasture. The farmer ignored the cry, and thanked the neighbors profusely because after all what is nicer than someone helping you dig a grave on a moment's notice. Nothing, really.

The neighbors left and the farmer fed the Terror and the girls behind the barn and then there was the peeping again so the farmer did a head count and came up one short and so the farmer pushed open the gate and hustled toward the cabana looking for Pebbles but the cabana was empty and Pebbles was lying indolently in the shade at the top of the hill, still fat but still not pregnant. On the way back out the farmer passed Winnie's little shed and happened to look inside and there was Zinnia, wearing a guilty expression, along with a pair of newborn twins, a boy and a girl, still wet.

"How did you get here?" the farmer asked, nonplussed. They didn't answer.

Their names are going to be Applejack and Eau-de-vie. Those are two kinds of brandy. And if you ever had seventh grade French you know that eau-de-vie means "water of life." The water that always keeps flowing.

When we look at them we will think of Brandy. And the backhoe. And the kindly neighbors. And the water of life. And the way time always tells.

7 Cedars Yogi's Brandy 4/18/2000 - 8/3/2013
Herron Hill CB Eau-de-Vie 8/3/2013 - .............

Plan A

It was decided by the power that be (Eo) that Crumpet would approach the Boston Terror and explain to it our rules for dog behavior and the consequences that might result from any rule-breakings.

"Why me?" asked Crumpet.

"Why not?" said Eo, and this proved to be a stumper. Crumpet went up toward the barn to explain the rules.

1. No chasing.
2. No barking.
3. No unsolicited opinions or offers of fake "assistance." This includes "helping" anyone to finish their dinner.

We watched with interest as Crumpet sallied forth, radiating confidence and bureaucracy despite her hamsterly size. She had gotten almost to the barn when the Terror came bounding toward her in an unnervingly friendly manner, barking gaily. Nonetheless we expected Crumpet to deliver our ultimatums and bylaws in a professional fashion but instead she turned tail and ran in abject terror, with a 4-inch tall Boston Terror nipping delightedly at her pasterns.

"The Most Famous Goat in the World," Jammies mentioned mournfully as Crumpet pronged toward the cabana.

"All right," said Eo, "let's go to Plan B."

The Boston Terror and The Idiots

There was a hushed discussion with no one able to agree.

"This boston terror is very little. Only about 4 inches tall,"  said the down-below Nubian crosses, led by Cherry. "We think it will not be a problem."

"Idiots," said Eo.

"Four inches is a lot," said Crumpet. "Two inches would be better."

"Can we shrink it?" asked Jammies. "Is there a way to shrink it?"

"I have heard that things can be shrunk through selective breeding," Betty chimed in.

"Let's breed it to Chaos," suggested Belle Starr. "I have noticed he is not very particular."

"That is not what selective means," Betty opined.

"Idiots," snapped Eo.

"It's fine right now where the farmer mostly carries it around," mused Elbie, "but what is going to happen when the farmer puts it down?"

"On the ground, you mean?" asked Pinky and Moony together.

"Idiots," said Eo.

The Royal Baby

Eo was the first to see it because she is always on the lookout for bad news. When she saw it she did a little gymnastics maneuver, swinging her butt around so that she could face it directly head on without looking any bigger than necessary and positioned to flee for the hills at the earliest possible moment.

"What is it Eo?" asked Moony, lumbering over looking like a tiny moon-spotted whale encased in blubber since she is a long yearling and her mother still lets her nurse even though she has to practically lie on the ground to reach the udder since she is so tall not to mention wide.

Eo said nothing just stared up toward the farmhouse with gimlet eyes where it was just barely visible, just the top of its head peeking up above the grass.

"It couldn't be," gasped Belle Pepper, swinging her tail around behind her. Blue came up and swung her tail. I swung my tail. Champagne swung her tail. Cherry swung her tail. Belle Starr swung her tail. Jammies swung her tail. Jinxy swung her tail. Pinky swung her tail. We all stood there staring.

"It couldn't be," said Belle Pepper again.

"What is it Eo?" asked Moony again.

"It's bad news," snapped Eo.

"What is it?" Moony asked everyone at large.

"It's another one," said Belle Pepper, somberly.

"Another what?" asked Moony.

Betty finally said it out loud. "Another boston terror."