Let It Snow ... Or Not

Now look at this would you? It simply can not snow. I say so. After all, I'm a frugal kind of goat and, well, we just haven't used up what we already have. But, hey, at least the temperature this morning was a few degrees higher than it has been.

Of course I'm having a little trouble hearing because of all the moaning and groaning. 'Oh, that Ella...', you say. But you know what? For once it isn't her. No, all that grieving is coming from the inner sanctum of the barn. It would seem that last night the goatmother absolutely refused to place anymore cookies in the Have-A-Heart trap. Apparently the Ghost of Christmas Mouses' Past is having a little trouble dealing with the lack of supply.

Well, that's the way the cookie crumbles. (Snort! )

And The Beat Goes On...

What, Ho! Marigold Holmes here. Here is an update on the Christmas Mystery. The cookies continue to disappear despite the closed condition of the Have-A-Heart trap. A friend of the goatmother's has suggested that perhaps the cookies themselves are possessed. I can not, in all good conscience, accept this theory since possessed cookies would slobber. I have seen no slobbering cookies except in the mouth of Boo. I suppose one might surmise that any cookie finding itself within the mouth of Boo might indeed become possessed, but I simply can not agree that said cookie would have been possessed prior to that moment. After all, it might have thought it was coming to me.

Nonetheless, it is my theory that soon the Ghost of Christmas Mouses' Past will become so fat it can no longer slip in and out of the trap. Then the jig will be up! Hey. It's my theory and I'm sticking to it. "The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our profession. " - Sherlock Holmes.

The Christmas Pudding Thickens...

...or is it the plot? Marigold Holmes here and her faithful assistant Fainting Watson. It would seem that solving the Christmas mystery continues to elude us all. Last evening, the goatmother entered the barn to prepare our nightly repast. The very first thing she did, after turning on the light of course, was to take the flashlight and check the condition of the newest animal cookie left atop the toggle of the trusty Have-A-Heart live trap previously set that morning with both doors shut and locked. Oddly, the cookie seemed to have slipped a bit off the old toggle. Well, vibration and all that rot to be sure.

And so, the goatmother went about her tasks. First (and foremost) she fed us Peanuts. ( Some of us complain quite loudly if the Peanuts are not administered forth with. I wouldn't know who that would be.) Anyway, she then proceeded into our side of the barn to pick up any *deposits*, most likely left by Boo and Peanut, as none of the rest of us ever do anything like that. This didn't take very long. The goatmother then re-entered the barn to gather a couple of flakes of succulent hay for our evening meal. Upon passing the trap, lo and behold the cookie was missing! It was in the corner of the trap peeking timidly through one of the ever-so-small squares. " How can this be??!!! I was just in here!", she exclaimed. "I didn't see anything, and what animal would try to steal a cookie with me here and running about?!"

In the meantime, Ella had managed to again allow herself into the inner sanctum via the all-too-well-oiled latch. She managed to grab a mouthful of Comfrey the goatmother keeps atop the highest stack of bales for, shall we say, intestinal emergencies, before being aptly shooed back to our side by the now sadly befuddled goatmother.

Okay, my dear Watson. What do you think? It simply CAN NOT be Tiny Tim. That just isn't a feasible explanation. What? All-rightey then. Perhaps the Ghost of Christmas-Mouses-Past is worth considering. (Calm down. I know it is supposed to be *mice*. But *mouses* just sounds better and I'm all about quality writing you know.)

Ebenezer: Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?
Spirit of Christmas Past: I am.
Ebenezer: Who and what are you?
Spirit of Christmas Past: I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.
Ebenezer: Long past?
Spirit of Christmas Past: No, your past.

Oy.

'Tis A Christmas Mystery

Morning dawned amidst the frost. And I do mean frost. Eighteen blessed degrees worth of frost. Oy. Anyway, What Ho!, Watson! A new mystery is afoot! It has been some time since we have had to put our caps of ratiocination to good use. (Some of us have never even put on our caps of ratiocination. Ever. I hesitate to mention any Nubian names...)

At any rate, it all began with the Have-A Heart live trap that the goatmother placed in the barn to catch the rat. You may remember that it is the one with the extra looooooong rope on it? The goatmother did, indeed, catch the rat, and replaced the trap just in case any long-lost relatives decided to come for a visit and, finding no one home, thought to move in. So the trap was replaced with one door down and one up and, per instructions, a piece of wood placed under one side of the toggle and the bait on the other. Lo and behold, the 'bait' (sad use for a Sacred Peanut if you ask me) was gone and the door was still up. Now how could this be? A mystery to be sure.

This happened a couple of times (the goatmother is a slow learner). Finally she decided that whomsoever was stealing the 'bait' was somehow bypassing the toggle and carrying out the Peanut. It was decided an animal cracker would provide a more formidable enticement while remaining somewhat bulkier to carry away. So said animal cracker was placed atop the toggle and both doors were left up. For sure the dastardly culprit would have to step on the toggle in order to get the cookie. But the next morning, the cookie was gone, both doors were down and locked, yet no one resided within. Now how could this be possible? Obviously it was the work of an extraordinarily gifted stealth burglar. You know the kind that dresses all in black and slides down a hi-tech rope afixed by tossing a grappling hook over the edge?

But then the unthinkable happened. The goatmother walked out into the barn to find two very small winter wrens bouncing about. They were literally everywhere. The floor. The hay. The rafters. The goatmother thought that since birds are such light-weights, perhaps it was they who were managing to get into the trap without setting it off. Personally, I like my theory better. I just don't think a dumb bird is fast enough to get out before those doors snap shut. However, not being inclined to listen to me, the goatmother simply dropped both doors deciding she did not want to catch two such nice birds. After all, apparently they were just hungry and it is Christmas time.

Now then, here is a picture of the Have-A-Heart trap. An Elmer's Glue stick has been placed next to it in order to give perspective. You can see there is a cookie on the toggle inside and both doors are down and locked. This is exactly the condition in which the goatmother left it. Yet the next morning, the cookie was gone.

I'm am uncertain as to whether we can reliably solve this mystery, my dear Watson. After all, there is a shocking lack of evidence. However, I find it prudent to inform you that, no, I simply can not, in all good conscience, support your theory that the perpetrator is Tiny Tim.

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise...

The goatmother and I have one thing in common. Both of us feel that it is just plain unnatural to get up before the sun does. As far as I'm concerned, there is just nothing at all to be said for getting up at the crap of dawn. Yes, That is what I said. So imagine my surprise this morning when we were awakened earlier than usual. Why, you ask? Well, it was just too darned light outside. Something had to be wrong, and oh, indeed it was. We looked out to see what you see below:

Oy. Where did this come from??? Well, I can tell you that some of us were just astounded:

And some of us were dismayed and not about to set one foot outside:

And some of us were just plain overjoyed:

It has been said, " Nonsense is a kind of exuberant capering round a discovered truth." - G. K. Chesterton
I must say I quite agree. Oy.

You Better Watch Out ...

The goatmother was on a kick this last weekend. She decided she should oil every last hinge, clasp, hook, chain and any other variety of metal moving part around the barnyard. Naturally when the goatmother does anything it creates a lot of curiosity. In addition, it seems to foster an attitude of 'good will toward men' and a desire to be of assistance. What can I say? 'Tis the season...

Anyway, this particular venture was not without mishap. 'What?!', you say. How could anything the goatmother does cause a mishap? Obviously you do not know the goatmother very well, but at any rate, one of the hinges she decided to oil was the one belonging to the metal gate going into the inner sanctum where the hay is stored. And the Peanuts. The Peanuts are stored in there. Did I mention in there is where THE PEANUTS are stored?

So come feeding time it was business as usual. Water buckets were cleaned and refilled and hay was brought in. Sadly, however, when you oil a hinge, well, it works really well after that. In fact, it may even work a little better than you might have hoped.

And you might get by without any problems if said smooth-working hinge doesn't happen to stay latched like it used to. You might, but then if there happens to be a certain overly-pushy, bratty Alpine in the vicinity, you might not. So when the goatmother went through carrying an armload of hay, Ella pushed and was welcomed into the inner sanctum.

That picture up there is the consummate face of innocence. But we all know better, don't we? The goatmother dropped everything and ran yelling after the impudent jackanape. Ella ran straight toward the Have-A-Heart live trap the goatmother had set in the barn with a very looooooong rope attached in case she happened to ensnare that particularly smelly visitor (in case you don't remember, you can refresh your memory about this 'visitor' here. ) Naturally, when the goatmother yelled, 'No, Ella! Not the trap!", Ella thought, "Not the trap? Oh, Yes! The TRAP!", and promptly ran into it. Oy.

Well, sometimes when you set a trap you catch things you don't expect. All I have to say is it sure isn't the time of year to be getting caught doing something bad. On the other hand, it sure couldn't happen to a *nicer* goat ... snicker. So, as the song says, Ella, ' You better watch out!' 'cuz "Once you begin being naughty, it is easier to go on and on, and sooner or later something dreadful happens." - Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Then ALL the Peanuts are mine!

Quinnahl and the Night Visitor

When you are a herding dog, well, that's what you tend to do...herd. So it came as no surprise to the goatmother when she flipped on the outside light to let the Mighty Quinn out last night and he took off into the darkness chasing something. But this was no ordinary something. This something was very large with even larger wings. Of course Cabra had to dash out right behind him. It wasn't much of a problem except that the huge winged thing was taken by complete surprise and almost didn't make it off the ground. Well, it did manage to fly off...or so we thought.

In truth it just flew up into the birch tree. However it was dark and the great bird blended in so well that the goatmother almost didn't see him up there. Woe be unto small dogs who do not remain vigilant. As it was, though, the goatfather brought out the flashlight and they proceeded to shine a light on it. Whatever the reason, I guess it didn't think it could carry the Cabrarator off. I mean she has gained some weight lately what with it being the holidays and all. Happens to the best of us. Just ask Boo.

Anyway, the owl was one of the two specimens you see below. We can't be sure which because, naturally, it was dark. So it goes without saying that the goatmother did not take either of these two pictures. Anyway, the first specimen is the rare Spotted Owl. This is a possibility since the road behind us is named Spotted Owl. As point of fact, the only way to really tell the difference between the Spotted Owl and the owl pictured after it, the Barred Owl, is that the 'stripes' on the chest of the Spotted Owl go across while the 'stripes' on the chest of the Barred Owl go up and down. Well, no one really got that close. And besides, it was DARK.

Now both of these owls are very large. The Spotted Owl is somewhere between 18 - 19 inches and has a wingspan of somewhere between 42 to 43 inches. The Barred Owl is normally around 17 inches and has a wingspan of 45 inches! Quinn can tell you it could have been either one. But all he cared about was chasing it and apparently he didn't stop to look at which way the stripes on the chest went either. Well, maybe he did, but he sure isn't telling. We are, however, extremely thankful he didn't catch the visitor since he most likely would have come out on the short end of that candy cane.

The Spotted Owl.

The Barred Owl.

In the end, the owl flew off and the Mighty Quinn chased him all the way to the road. I'm sure he thinks he did a great thing, but the reality is that the owl probably just got bored with those stupid people shining lights and trying to take pictures of him in the DARK. Oy.

Amahl: "What is that?
Kaspar: Eh?
Amahl: What is that?
Kaspar: A parrot.
Amahl: Does it talk?
Kaspar: Eh?
Amahl: Does it talk?
Kaspar: How do I know?
Amahl: Does it bite? " - From Amahl and The Night Visitor.