It's a B'ar!

The Goatmother and the Goatfather got home when  it was rather darkish.  That, of course, is because of the time change, which is always an adjustment, to say the least.  Anyway, as they rounded the corner, the headlights of the car caught something.  It was large and black and fuzzy, and it dashed across the road in front of them and off into the woods.  'What was that?!', they both cried at once.  Well, there are apple trees in front of the house.  Usually the deer are out there scarfing up the fallen apples, but this was decidedly no deer.  We goats were on alert when the Goatmother got down to the barn.  It is a bit of a distance to the apple trees, and while my eyesight it quite good, it was rather dark.  The Goatmother and the Goatfather both think it was a bear.  Me, I'm not so sure.  After all, Sasquatches probably like apples just as well as anyone.  Whatever.  I'm asking that the Peanuts be put under lock and key.  Just in case.

Reasons To Be Cheerful

By golly, here it is Thursday and that means it is Reasons To Be Cheerful day!  Now don't forget to go over to Planet Penny and see what she and others have found to be cheerful about this week.

As for me, there's a lot to be cheerful about this week.  1) -  The Heron lit in the tree and then went on his merry way, not stopping to look for pretty, shiny goldfish the Goatmother put  in our pond.

2) - The Goatmother's weird plant bloomed.

 

And, saving the best for last.  3) - Looking across the barnyard at the Goatmother's red-neck Hovercraft.

 

 Oy.

Wednesday Words of Wisdom

Well, guess what?  Remember the last post when the Goatmother caught our little furry friend?  You know, that one that kept leaving the 'perfectly positioned pile of poops'?  That very evening, the Goatmother breezed through our nightly bed 'turn down' and 'Peanut on the pillow' with a reckless feeling of abandon.  No longer would she arrive in the morning, throw open the barn door and be greeted by said, now infamous, 'perfectly positioned pile of poops'.  Alas, some dreams do come true.  Right?

Fast forward.  Now, don't blame me.  Some of you actually asked for this picture.

Yes, the Goatmother bounced out of bed the next morning.  Well, wait a minute.  The Goatmother never bounces out of bed.  Okay, so the next morning the Goatmother dragged her sorry a .... bum out of bed, eventually came to the barn, threw open the barn door, and VOILA!  This is what she saw.  Obviously the wrong miscreant had been apprehended and falsely accused.  Oy.

Guess what else reappeared?

Can you see some of my peanuts in there?  Anyway, good things come to those who wait. The following morning, the 'perfectly positioned pile of poops' was again perfectly positioned in front of the door.   Sadly, however, the trap had been sprung, and no evidence could be found of the true perpetrating positioner of poops. The trap was reset because that's how the Goatmother is - p.e.r.s.i.s.t.e.n.t.

Guess what?  (I know.  I say that a lot, but how else can I build the suspense, I ask you?)
The next morning the Goatmother hit pay dirt  - or pay Peanuts!  Oh, heck.  She caught the stupid rat!

So, Wednesday's Words of Wisdom are this:  No matter what the situation, if there is one, always assume there is more.  That's really good advice - especially if there are Peanuts involved.  And you know what else?  Always reset the trap.

A Really Good Cause

Hallooo!  Just wanted to take a moment to tell you all about a lovely young lady.  If you go here, to Planet Penny, you can read all about it.  Basically, though, Hannah is a 27 year old, beautiful young lady who was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  She needs more help than she can get in the UK and her boyfriend has started a campaign to raise the funds needed to send Hannah to the USA where she can get the treatment she so desperately needs.  Anyway, if you can help, it is a worthy cause.  And if you are unable, then maybe you can spread the word. Many thanks and a bundle of Peanuts to Hannah.

The Case of the Perfectly Positioned Poop

Such a very long time since my cracker-jack, sleuthing self, Marigold Holmes, and my ever-faithful, not-so-steady-on-his feet-but-capable assistant, Watson, have had a mystery to solve.  It started like this.  The Goatmother would trod out to the barn every morning to perform her usual round of maid-service, and to distribute corn to those stupid ducks in the pond.  And, every morning when she opened the barn door, there would be a perfectly positioned pile of little poops right in front of the door.  Now I suppose one might not find this so odd in itself.  I mean many a barn is inhabited by freeloaders other than the ones that are actually supposed to be there.  (Oh, oops.  Did I really just say that?)  But the rather remarkable thing in this instance,  is that first of all, there was an obvious lack of scurrying into corners when the Goatmother threw open the door and turned on the light.  Secondly,  and most significant in my savvy opinion, is that no where else in the barn was there any evidence of poop except  the one little pile, every morning, right smack dab in the center of the doorway.  How very peculiar, yet curiously organized.

So Watson and I hopped right onto the matter.  Clue one, there was never a daylight occurrence, so obviously the transgression was happening at night.  Now the door between the inner sanctum and our area of the barn is closed at night, making it impossible for us to do any kind of proper surveillance.  However, with my superior ear positioning, I could manage to listen rather well.  Sadly, when you stand next to Boo, few sounds can be heard above the incessant munching.  Obviously Watson was in a much better position to carry out this assignment.  Unfortunately, since Peanut is obsessed  with bouncing back and forth off the hoof trimming stand to gain, what he sees as, a better position from which to butt Watson, little success came from that front.

Admittedly we were failing.  Was it a squirrel?  A chipmunk?  Why were the poops only in one place and why was that place so resolutely chosen?  Was someone trying to send the Goatmother a message?  'Enter Ye not here, for this is my domain, Woman!'?  Now, I would like to interject here that most of you would probably like to see a picture of the 'evidence'.  But allow me to say that no picture will be forthcoming because, let's face it, how genteel is a picture of a pile of little poops?  I ask you, would this be at all proper?

Anyway, the Goatmother got tired of waiting, I'm afraid.  After all, this had been going on for almost two weeks.  In my defense, I had my mouth fu ... uh ... hooves full with other things.  Nonetheless, out came the live trap.  I have to complain a bit, here, because guess what she used to bait the live trap?  Yep.  My Peanuts!  Well, I have to say at least the culprit has good taste, because this morning when the Goatmother entered, there was the customary pile of little poops, but across the way, there inside the live trap, sat a little beady-eyed fuzzy.  No, it wasn't a fuzzy squirrel or a cute little chipmunk.  It was just a plain, garden-variety, rat, albeit not a very old one.  The Goatfather, official taxi service to the temporarily imprisoned, was informed  he had a fare, and the little blighter was hauled away.  We won't say to where, but should you happen to see a small rat running about, it absolutely did not come from here.

Well, mystery solved.  Hay, we helped didn't we?  We kept watch, as best we could, and offered all the advice my superior intellect has to offer.  When the Goatfather got back, he trekked off down to the pasture to burn a large pile of brush collected from the last big wind storm.  When he lit the fire, guess what?  Rodent-type dwellers scattered to the four winds.  Cabra was delighted and carried on like a small bulldozer running to and fro, nose to the ground, pushing aside all the leaves.  Don't worry.  She didn't catch anything.  No, I expect they all ran this way.

Reasons To Be Cheerful

Hey!  It is Thursday and that means Reasons To Be Cheerful day!  So, here goes:
Reason To Be Cheerful No. 1 -

Kenny G ???????????????  Oh, goat grief!  Get the hay off here, Goatmother!  This is my blog!  Oy.

Reason To Be Cheerful No. 2 -

It's too cold for slugs.

And Reason To Be Cheerful No. 3 -

Living some place that has some of the best sunsets ever!
Now, be sure to pay a visit to Planet Penny and see what other people have to be cheerful about this week!

Wednesday Words of Widsom

So, before I impart this Wednesday's Words of Wisdom, I'd like to tell you a story.  You see, the other day the Goatfather got a letter in the mail telling him that he had been selected to participate in a study of Flu and the Flu vaccine by the CDC (Center for Disease Control).  Well, he laid the letter aside on the table.  Of course laying anything on the table is akin to sending it into a Black Hole.  You may see it again, and then again, you may not.  At any rate, he read it, set it aside, and didn't tell the Goatmother about it.

Well, the Goatmother, being the master cleaner, did sort of notice the letter laying there.  She did happen to notice that it said something about the CDC and a survey, and to her credit, she didn't cart it off to the recycle bin.   So yesterday, the Goatfather was off doing Goatfather things in the Man Cave, and the Goatmother was bopping about the house doing Goatmother things, when the phone rang.  Now, you know, a person can spend a lot of time getting on the 'Do Not Call' list, and trying to convince every mail order place in the world that you really don't want to receive their catalog.  Despite this fact, the catalogs still arrive and the phone still rings, usually at dinner time, and usually wanting a donation, a vote, or to let you know that this is absolutely your very last chance to receive that opportunity to raise your credit card limit.  So the  Goatmother dutifully picked up the phone, and when the guy said he was calling on behalf of the CDC and wished to speak to the Goatfather, the Goatmother said, 'Well, he's not available'. 

The survey taker was not daunted in the least and the next question was , "Am I speaking to an adult member of this household?"  The Goatmother replied, "Yes, but I'm really NOT interested."  This remark stopped the survey taker in his tracks.   I mean who exactly tells the Center for Disease Control they're not interested? "Can I ask why not?  This is a very important survey and will really help the Center for Disease Control and will only take a few minutes."  "Weeellll", said the Goatmother, "How many minutes?  I'm really busy."  "Fifteen ... and I'll talk really fast."  "Okay", replied the Goatmother, "Let's do it."

First off, the Goatmother seemed to recall that the Goatfather had indeed gotten a letter regarding this.  So, when the survey taker started firing off questions, the Goatmother made an attempt to give her answer plus the one the Goatfather would have given.  Now the survey taker never once told her that he didn't need to know both answers.   However, true to his word that man rattled off those questions so fast he probably could've won some sort of gold medal for World's Fastest Utterance of the English Language.  "Are you White, Black, Hispanic, Asian, Non-Asian, Asian-American, Native American, Latino, of Latino descent, or are you now or have you ever been a Bovine, Equine, Caprine, Canine or Feline?"  Okay, maybe that isn't exactly what he said, but it was so much and so fast that instead of answering the Goatmother just said, "Wow.  That was a mouthful."  The guy laughed.

More questions followed, many of which left the Goatmother wondering, 'I wonder what that has to do with the flu?'  Until, the guy said, "Are you now, or have you been, since July of 2011, pregnant.  Without hesitation, or even thought, the next words that came out of the Goatmother's mouth were these:  "Heaven forbid."  Now if anyone had thought the survey taker laughed before, this time someone likely had to pick him up off the floor after falling from his chair in hysterics.  "Well, I'm fifty-nine years old, for Pete's sake."

Needless to say, the survey taker finished his survey really fast, just as he had promised.  In the end, he asked the Goatmother if she had any other questions.  She said, "Two.  One, is this going to subject me to tons of junk mail, and two, since the letter was actually sent to the Goatfather, is he going to get another call to  get a chance to give his answers?" "Nope, absolutely NO junk mail", to which the Goatmother thought, 'Yeah.  We'll see."  And to the second question, the guy answered, "No.  One to a household.  This is going to go down as one interview with a 59 year old female."  "Oh.", said the Goatmother.  "Well, too bad for him, I guess."  This time the guy nearly busted a gut.


The moral of this story, and Wednesday's Words of Wisdom, are this: Always remember that statistics are only as good as the kinds of questions asked, the people asking those questions, and the people who answer.  Heaven forbid.