At last. AT LAST! A new case is afoot! Finally my dear Watson and I have something to sleuth again! Of course now we are going to have to include my nephew, but every rose has it's thorn. So, allow me to relate the scenario to you, my dear friends!
It was a hot day, nearing the end of summer. The grass was dry and crackled beneath our hooves. The goatmother had been out watering her many plants, dragging hoses here and there. The day had been quite odd, in a sense. It seemed a day filled to the brim with animals gone mad.
The first indication that something was amiss occurred when the goatmother trudged toward the barn to move one of her many hoses. She had just given the Mighty Quinn a bath the day before and was thinking fondly of how nice and fluffy he looked, how soft his fur felt, and how nice he smelled. As she passed the pond, the corner of her eye caught a form lying almost completely submerged in its duck-weed-filled, somewhat muddy shallow. Was it an alligator? In Washington? Naaaah. The goatmother whirled about to face the monster, only to encounter the previously clean, but absolutely no longer, Mighty Quinn, lying up to his ears in the soup. The Mighty Quinn has a new sobriquet now. To be exact, it is 'Pond Scum', or 'Mr. Pond Scum', depending on how benevolent one feels.
This incident, however, was not the only bit of 'different' behavior exhibited by the Mighty Quinn. Now as I said, it is the end of summer. Therefore, the trees in the front yard, which are fruit trees, all have fruit, and are all beginning to drop said fruit. There are delicious plums (just ask Ella - the pig eats them, seed and all, and ends up with juice dripping all down her chin), apples, cherries and pears. Of all these fruits, the Mighty Quinn has taken a shine to a pear...and I mean 'A' pear - as in one. Anytime he is let outside, he comes dashing out the door and runs to find 'his' pear, which he then proceeds to run around the yard with, tossing it up in the air, catching it and running to and fro, hither and yon, over hill and over dale. I would imagine that it is a darned good thing that the pear isn't quite ripe or he might end up looking like Ella in the plums. Still in all, I suppose it is only a matter of time. At any rate, this was the second strange event of the ill-fated day.
Next, the goatmother observed that everyone of the goat 'people' seemed to be bent on a 'butt' fest! I was smacking Peanut, and to his credit, Peanut was rearing up on his hind legs and smacking me right back. Then Peanut decided to butt Watson, which naturally caused Watson to faint, at which time Ella decided to come after me, and Boo decided to go after Peanut. It was a veritable madhouse of goats meeting head to head, head to butt, and occasionally head to broadside. I rather enjoyed the whole thing myself, but the goatmother was a bit non-plussed. Really it was all just innocent fun. I can't imagine what all the fuss was about.
Nonetheless, you are probably wondering where in the hay the 'mystery' part comes into all this.
Well, after the goatmother was properly primed with all these other 'events', she set out for the barn to give us our meager portion of hay for the night, Peanut his bottle, and to pass out the customary round of cookies and Peanuts (the eating kind, not the goat kind). Goatness Gracious!!!! She looked into the barn and the door between the two stalls was completely off its hinges and remaining upright only because it was still attached by the chain she puts on to keep it held open during the day!!! Now the hinges on this door sit upon two large metal pieces that are turned up toward the ceiling. The only way to remove the door from its hinges is to lift it up in the air and then slide both parts off the upturned bolts. Now HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN???? Goats do not have arms. So, I employed ratiocination and then I looked at Watson. Watson looked back at me and then at Peanut. Peanut looked back at Watson and then at Ella. Then we ALL turned and looked at Boo. Only the U.S.S. Boo is large enough to move the immovable. Boo simply stared back with a 'What?' look on her face.
So there you have it. The Dilemma of the Dropped Door. How did it happen? Who was cunning enough to maneuver the door off its hinges, or who was simply dumb enough and large enough to move it accidentally and never realize what had occurred? Well, as my hero would say, "Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing. It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different." (Sherlock Holmes, from The Boscombe Valley Mystery). To the stump, Watson! to the stump!!!