Seeing Spots

Introducing the illustrious Mr. Peanut. Yes, indeed, this is my nephew. I have to admit that when the goatmother and the goatfather brought him home, I thought I was seeing things...spots to be exact. I think he might actually be the first Dalmatian goat. He has that whole 'KISS' thing going on with his eyes too. Gee, maybe he can get his own TV show like Gene Simmons. Do you suppose?

At any rate, he is quite the little laid-back man, if you ask me. Why he has already challenged my man, Watson, with a couple of head butts! He doesn't have a very demonstrative voice, however. It kind of puts one in mind of the buzzing of a dragonfly. Still, I guess that can be a good thing. As far as Homegoat Security matters, they'll never know we're coming...especially if we have set up surveillance near the pond. Of course, just to be on the safe side, he might need to be extra cautious around large frogs and aquatic birds.

But, you know, I just have a feeling little Mr. Peanut is going to make things quite a bit more lively around here. Can a philosophical, sleuthing goat, such as myself, have two side-kicks? Why the hay not!? Welcome, little Mr. Peanut! Let the adventures begin!!!

The Great Acquisition

Oh, my goat! OH, MY GOAT! This is just *too* much! If I had panties, they'd be in a bunch! If a goat can have a cow, I just might!!! Great Good Goat God Pan! - We are getting ANOTHER goat!!! As if it weren't bad enough already, now I will be expected to share my hay and my Sacred Peanuts with yet another mouth? Oy. What is the world coming to. I think the goatmother must have had a lobotomy when she was in that hospital with the goatfather!

Still, as I hear it, the goat that is coming to join us is actually my nephew so he can't be all bad, can he? No doubt he will be quite refined in his demeanor. Although, he is the son of my half-sister, Hannah Belle Lecter, which doesn't, in itself, speak too well for him. Hannah Belle is a full Nigerian handful. But this little fellow's father is Captain January, who is quite the gentleman. I am sure he will have gotten those genes.

We are told his name is 'Peanut' and that he is the smallest baby ever born on the farm where I, myself, was born. He is said to be the poster child for The Miracle Network since he wasn't expected to live beyond his first night. So, as far as I'm concerned, Peanut has two pluses in his favor. 1) He is related to me. 2) His name is 'Peanut' and how can you go wrong with a name like that??? At any rate, if you would like to read more about Peanut, you can go to the site of my friend, Baby Belle, here, and read all about Peanut's difficult and humble beginnings. Just do a 'search' for his name and Belle will tell you all about it. Belle is quite eloquent and loquacious. One simply need be aware some bias may exist in her reports - something I never allow in my literary undertakings.

So there you have it. A crisis in the making if you look at it one way, but quite an opportunity if you look at it another. So, in the words of my old friend Parmenides, I say, " Welcome, O youth, that come to my abode on the car that bears you tended by immortal charioteers! It is no ill chance, but right and justice that has sent you to travel on this way."

A Short Absence

Most likely you have been wondering what in the world has happened to Marigold? She hasn't written for quite some time now. The fact of the matter is that I have been unable to get to the computer. Why, you ask? Well, it seems that after miserably failing some sort of running test called a 'treadmill', the goatfather was whisked away to take more tests. I can understand how anyone with only two legs might fail at running, but I am not sure why they would have to take tests about it.

Anyway, apparently the goatfather had two procedures done called 'angioplastys' and they put two of something called 'stents' in the blood vessels around his heart. I don't know what an 'angioplasty' is and I've been ruminating about this 'stent' thing. Isn't that an unbroken period of time during which you do something? I guess that could be right seeing as how I heard the goatmother talking about him having to lay flat for several hours without being able to raise his head or move his leg. I don't think I would like that, myself, unless, of course, there were Peanuts involved.

At any rate, we were all quite joyous to see the return of the goatmother. Nobody else is quite as skilled, not to mention as generous, in doling out Peanuts, animal cookies and hay as is the goatmother.

Fat Don't Fly

Last night was quite an interesting evening. First off, young Watson decided to go into the big pasture. I know. This doesn't sound very exciting does it? However, prior to last night, it was Watson's custom to stand in the lot, baaing loudly at the rest of us who had gone into the pasture to eat. I'm not sure what caused him to change his mind, but it was certainly cause for celebration. So, being the party-goats that we are, we did. Ella and I engaged in some 'hoofticuffs' while Boo stood around and, well, looked large. The goatmother ran out to proudly take pictures of Watson's first brave excursion into the 'big' goat world, all the while backing up and saying, 'Watson, DON'T come to the fence! I DO NOT have any animal cookies! Watson! THAT is an electric wire! Watson!


So, when the goatmother headed for the barn, we all naturally followed along in stair-step fashion, Watson bringing up the rear. There was a lot of twisting , kicking and butting that went on (in celebration, of course) all the way to the barn. When we got to the lot, Ella and I began to chase each other merrily about the lot. Ella ran and leaped gracefully atop the new little 'goatie shed' and proceeded to jump up and down just to hear the sound her hooves made when she landed. The goatmother walked up to the edge to speak to her, but still on the other side of the fence. At this point, Boo T-boned me from the side, which sent me reeling into the back of the goatmother's legs, who fell into the fence. Thank Goat! it wasn't the electric fence or we would have never heard the end of it! I don't know what possessed Boo. I think it was just the fact that the rest of us were having such a good time and she wasn't getting in on the fun. At any rate, the goatmother recovered and turned to chastise the perpetrator when IT happened.

I'm not at all sure what she was thinking, unless she was just so ecstatic over the fact that someone else besides her was finally getting into trouble. But, Ella decided to perform a pas jete from the top of the shed, taking a flying arabesque over the fence and gate into the lot. That was the plan. But miss Margoat Fontaine, forgot to take into consideration that her weight is not exactly what it was a mere few months ago. No, miss prima goatarina tripped over the top of the fence and went crashing to earth. Believe you me, there was stunned silence. You could have heard a Peanut drop. Ella got to her feet, but alas, she had injured her left leg. The goatmother ran over immediately, feeling to see if any bones were broken. Embarrassed, Ella was not very cooperative. Still, after inspection, no bones appeared to be broken, and Ella, being the trooper that she is, started to put a little weight on it. Finally she shook it off, though gingerly, I admit. However, before the goatmother left for the night, Ella was pretty much back to her old self, trying to butt me around. That's okay. Next time she tries reaching for my Peanuts, I'll just nudge her a little and remind her how it was she got into that predicament in the first place.

The Full Moon

What can I say? Yesterday was the full moon, however, today we have still felt the lunar fallout. I have to put the blame somewhere. First of all, according to the goatmother, the Mighty Quinn has been a holy terror both yesterday and today. Apparently it is as though he has returned to square one and has forgotten every single thing he has learned in 'doggie school'. Personally, I am not certain he ever left square one, but anyhow, this is what she says.

That was the first indication. Next the cats, who are inside cats, have run amok. Now this was more than the usual display of amokness. Loud thumps have been heard and the bird cage has been left swinging, though no cat is in close proximity. Very mysterious. Plus, one of them decided to purloin last night's dinner from the kitchen counter, dragging it into the bedroom and trying to chew through the plastic. Let us just say the goatmother was not amused.

But the pièce de résistance came tonight. The goatmother came into the barn for our nightly repast, such as it is. As she was cleaning up, well, I just couldn't help myself. I don't know what compelled me to do so, but I reached out and bit her. Really, I was only trying to express my admiration of her shirt. She took exception. I think it is this whole 'diet' thing. It just looked SO delectable!

Well, that was the first problem. Then the goatmother brought in a couple of flakes of the most scrumptious-looking, succulent and green hay! Let's just say that at least 3 of us are now on the big 'S' list - SORRY! (Ha! What did you think the 'S' was for? Hmmm???) Why, you ask, are at least 3 of us on the big 'S' list? It seems that Watson was standing in the doorway when the hay passed through. Watson does not understand the desperation of 3 starving women. I'm afraid Watson was mowed down, at which point, he naturally fainted - fully. Head first, and then all four feet straight up in the air. It was not a pretty sight. The goatmother was not amused...again.

Okay, well, I could claim that we didn't see him. Still, the truth of the matter is that it must be the full moon. Just call me Miss Jekyll...and then GO HIDE!

Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer

Ah, summer! Time for some serious relaxing in the shade. Nothing too eventful happening during these lazy days of summer. I've temporarily given up my stump for a more utilitarian contemplation platform. There don't seem to even be any worthwhile mysteries in the making. Still, I'm sure something will come along sooner or later.

I have been concentrating, to the best of my ability, on NOT butting Watson. I'm doing pretty well, actually, which is more than I can say for 'Jaws', the Nubian. 'Jaws' takes a bite and Watson faints. It is getting to be old stuff, if you ask me. Personally, I just think this whole diet thing is making her cranky. Now nobody gets ANY grain! Thank you very much, Miss Waddles!!! At least the goatmother hasn't had the heart to cut out the Peanuts. If that happened, Goatie Bar The Door!!! I would have to consider taking up butting Watson again!

So, there you have it. The birds are singing, the sun is shining (well, mostly...this is Washington), the grass is growing, and somewhere in the good ole' U.S. of A., this year's crop of Peanuts is growing too. All is right with the world. Ahhh, summer!

The MBA

Oy. I can't help myself. This time it is me that is in trouble - caught in the dark clutches of my addiction. Yes, it is true. I freely admit it. I enjoy smashing Watson. For the first time, Ella is the nice one and I, I am the bad one. Oh, woe is me.

In my defense, I have been at the bottom of the butting barrel for quite awhile - last to eat grain, last to eat hay, last to get the sacred Peanuts (unless I can outsmart the other two by first creating a diversion). For the first time in my life I have someone else to push around. It feels sooo good that I am loath to stop. Still, I must find a way to conquer this ill before I am turned completely to the dark side of the Force. Oh, Obi Wan, where are you when I need you?

My name is Marigold and I am a Buttaholic. This is the first step to recovery in the 12 step program of the MBA, Myotonic Butters Anonymous. (You, perchance, thought I was going for a Business degree???) I have my work cut out for me.

Step 1: I have admitted I am powerless over butting--that my life has become unmanageable. (Especially at dinner time.)

Step 2: I have come to believe that a Power, greater than myself, can restore me to sanity. (Hmm...must be Peanuts since it is a capital 'P'. I like that idea.)

Step 3: I have made a decision to turn my will, and my desire to butt, over to the care of somebody else (anybody else) who might help me gain control. (No pinching please.)

Step 4: I have made a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself (and all the Peanuts in the barn.)

Step 5: I have admitted to myself and another goat (Boo. I'll be a goat berry if I'll admit anything to Ella) the exact nature of my butting.

Step 6: I am entirely ready (I think) to have someone, anyone, remove my defects (what few there are) of character.

Step 7: I have humbly asked Him, who makes all Peanuts, to remove my shortcomings. (Although, I kind of feel like I'm short enough already...)

Step 8: I have made a list of all goats I have harmed (Watson, and occasionally Ella) and I have become w-i-l-l-i-n-g to make amends to them (Oy. This is gonna' hurt).

Step 9: I have made direct amends to such goats (well, I'm trying anyway) except when to do so would injure them again. (Well, they ought to learn to get the hay out of the way, don't you think???)

Step 10: I have continued to take personal inventory (of the Peanuts in the barn), and when I was wrong, promptly spoke to someone about it! (Well, maybe not all that prompt,,,well, maybe more like never.)

Step 11: (Ah, almost there...) Sought to improve my conscious contact with the side of Watson, praying only for knowledge (not to mention desire) of how ABSOLUTELY NOT to go there anymore.

Step 12: (At last...) Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, I have tried to carry this message to others (that stupid mouse in the barn who, by the way, paid no attention) and to practice these principles in all my goatly affairs.

I feel much, much better now.