I Am Wisely Cheerful ... and LATE!

You are probably wondering about my title.  Well, I missed Wednesday.  Whoosh!  It just passed right on by.  And then it was Thursday, and I really was cheerful.  I just forgot to tell you about it.  Okay, maybe I didn't really forget, but sheesh!, it's the holidays and there are just so many Peanuts to eat.  I suppose I got a little carried away.  Anyway, I figured I better get back on track.  After all, the New Year is upon us and I don't want to start it out on a bad hoof.

So then, what the hay is that picture of down below?  Well, that, my friends, is (or maybe I should say 'was' ...  let us all bow our heads ...) the lid to the cookie jar.  

So what happened to it?  And before you start accusing me, let it be known that no goat has top teeth in the front (unless they are mutants) and are incapable of wreaking such destruction.  Now just take a good long look at that.  A perfect circle of air all the way around except for a few lingering shards of plastic.  That fact is why the Goatfather's fingers can fit between the top and the rim.  Who could do this?  Ah, 'tis a mystery to be sure.  Enter Marigold Holmes and her ever faithful assistant, Watson for one last case to ponder before 2011 comes to an end.

I have to say that even though we were all in the barn at the time the dastardly crime occurred, the munching was so loud no one heard a thing.  I'm sure you are saying to yourself, 'That is simply ridiculous, Marigold.  Look at that destruction.  Someone had to have heard something.'  But I assure you, if you had ever spent even one night in a barn with Boo, you would understand.  Really you would.

The Goatmother came out the next morning to find what you see above.  Now the 'live' trap has been set ever since the last 'visitor' took the taxi, but no one has bothered it.  The Goatmother did note, however, that the trap had been tripped on this particular morning.  Watson and I have been hard at work trying to determine just who the culprit might be.  As long as that door gets closed at night, though, this one might just have to be relegated to the realm of the cold case.

The cookie jar has since gone to live inside the 'inner sanctum', the grain room.  All access to it is lined with either wood or hardware cloth.  I would be seriously worried if anyone managed to make it inside there.  Come to think of it, I'd be seriously interested in exactly how they did it too.  I mean you never know when one might find that kind of information useful, eh?

So there you have it.  The 'live' trap has remained untouched despite the fact that the Goatmother grabbed a literal handful of Peanuts and shoved them in there. (What a waste.  Oy.)  We may never know who was responsible, but that leads me to my late words of wisdom.  Never, Never, NEVER trust that your cookies are mature enough to be left alone.  A sitter is always preferable.  A goat is a good choice.  Trust me.

And where is the 'cheerful' in all of this?  Well, first of all I'm exceedingly cheerful that the mystery miscreant did not, in fact, make it to the actual cookies.  Secondly, I am even more cheerful that it wasn't the Peanut jar that was so savagely attacked.  And third, well, I am cheerful that a New Year is about to begin.  New beginnings, new adventures, new Peanuts!  Happy 2012 to each and every one of you.  Thank you for stopping by to read the humble words of  a reflective ruminant.