It is official. Tonight the goatmother went back to the house feeling like the lowest of the low, fully convinced she will soon be written into the annals of the meanest people alive. Now the goatmother is a lovely person, you say. How could this be? Well, it seems that tonight was the beginning night of no more bottles for little Mr. Peanut. Weaning time is at hand. There is no more milk...zilch...nada...none. Ouch.
Of course Peanut and Watson got a little bit of grain to replace the bottle, so I, myself, don't really see what the big deal is. We don't get any grain. As a matter of fact, even Watson couldn't see the problem. His thought was that as long as the animal cookies are forthcoming, all is copasetic.
But Peanut just didn't see it that way. So, as the goatmother trudged toward the house, she was followed by echoes of pathetic little dragonfly bleating. Guilt is alive and well. As for me, I think it's gonna' be a long night.