Snow Madness

The morning began on a note of dismay. It snowed last night. Substantially. (Long Live Those Woolly Boogers!) Snow is, well, cold at best. Did I mention wet? But that isn't all. If you look above, you can see the condition of my beloved stump. Sad, isn't it? How is one expected to do any decent philosophizing if their muse is frozen - not to mention their 'assets'?

However, that is simply not the worst of things. First of all, the goatmother was delighted about the snow. She finally had a chance to make use of her new red sled. Oy. This woman is no spring chicken here. What possesses her at times like these is waaaaay beyond me. Trust me. More snow is due tonight. It may soon become more than my goatly sensitivities can handle.

Hard though it may be to imagine, things deteriorated even further after that. Since it is so cold outside, the good-hearted, yet fool-hardy goatmother, decided we all deserved some alfalfa. Praise be to the Great Goat God! Alfalfa!!!!! We have been on a diet so long, we had forgotten it even existed. We had completely forgotten how those succulent little leaves seem to melt in one's mouth, only to be so sweetly contemplated later in its cud-ly re-submergence. (Wow! How poetic is that?!).

It was 0900 hours. The goatmother, resplendent in red nose and frozen bum from her earlier forays down the snow-covered slopes, entered the barn. She eyed the alfalfa, tightly tucked back in the stack of hay bales, and proceeded to climb up to free it. Every goat eye was glued to her immediately. Have you ever seen a goat drool? She finally freed it from its hold, cut the twine, and peeled off two heady flakes of complete and divine, verdant bliss. She managed to unlatch the little gate, despite the fact that both hands were full, and that is when it happened. Have you ever seen any of those videos where they throw chum into the water amidst a school of voracious sharks? Every sensible and refined thought that has ever resided in the mind of a goat immediately flew the coop. Ella knocked the gate open and ran into the inner sanctum. Watson made a dash to follow but was deftly diverted to the side. The goatmother, ever the stalwart, dropped both flakes of alfalfa and began yelling, "Stop! Everybody back! Elvis has left the building!!!!!" Ella dashed toward the outside door and the Mighty Quinn ran for his life! All eight pairs of hooves left behind, flailed madly and converged as one atop the discarded flakes. It was not pretty. The goatmother, bless her little heart, managed to recover and dash in after Ella, who was, by now, climbing the Mount Everest of hay bales. She managed to corral the errant Alpine, shove her back from whence she came, and finally return to the sad, misshapen pile that was the remains of the alfalfa. Grudgingly she scraped it up and dumped it into the hay feeders. When last seen, she was trudging back toward the house through the snow, shaking her head and muttering to herself. Alfalfa! One of life's little pleasures.