"If providence did beards devise,
To prove the wearers of them wise,
A fulsome goat would then, by nature,
Excel each other human creature." - Thomas D'Urfey

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

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.

1 comment:

Farmgirl_dk: said...

*snort*
Good thing the goatmother has you two trying to work things out!

Comfrey, eh? I have recently discovered (or shall we say identified) a huge patch of it in my garden. Of course, it's frozen now, but I've heard it makes wonderful poultices for swelling and bruises. How does the goatmother use it for intestinal distubances?