Today is my birthday. Happy Birthday to me! However, I would be willing to bet I don't get a Peanut Cake this year. In fact, I think I will be lucky to get fed. You see, 'someone' is leaving the goatmother little time for the finer things in life - even the important things in life - and the goatmother has been in somewhat of a tizzy. I could have told her this would happen, but does anyone listen to the goat? (pause for dramatic effect...) NO.
At any rate, Cabra (well she has a good name anyway) was meant to be a companion for the Mighty Quinn and a frou-frou farm dog. The 'companion' part has gone over quite well. It has gone over so well, that Cabra is inclined to do what ever she sees the Mighty Quinn do...which leads us to the photo above.
You see, the goatmother has been all a twitter because we have a new 'farm' store in town! Now we have farm stores here, but they are not very good farm stores and seem to lean more toward ostentatious suburban living than toward the honest-to-goat, real, dyed-in-the-wool farm. And this isn't just any farm store. No indeed. This store is a division of the famous Tractor Supply Store - the very same one all her southern goat friends constantly wax-poetic about. So when it opened, naturally the goatmother HAD to go there and came home carrying two gooseberry bushes. Of course the gooseberry bushes had to be planted right away.
Now, since puppyhood, the Mighty Quinn has viewed it as his bounden duty to help with any horticultural endeavor about the place. This includes, but is not limited to, the extraction of weeds and assistance with planting. If a weed is even kicked with the toe of one's boot, the Mighty Quinn is on it like ugly on an ape, literally ripping tenacious roots from the ground. Unfortunately, he also deems it necessary to help dig. Taking this into account, coupled with the fact that Cabra must follow his every lead, we are saddled with a sad case of 'doggie-see, doggie-do'. (Oh, Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Doggie-do! Oh, hay!, I just kill myself. Sorry - got caught up in the moment.) At any rate, now you have the facts explaining exactly why the above photographic evidence proves, without a smattering of doubt, that the 'frou-frou' part of the equation has flown the coop. It didn't take long, did it? Well, one simply can not expect a canine to have the same degree of acumen as a goat. Proving, once again, that Albert Einstein was probably thinking about a dog when he wrote, "He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would surely suffice." Albert simply would not even have considered such a thought about a goat.