Here's The Thing

The goatmother and the goatfather had company right after Christmas. They had company. This should have been a 'signal' of some sort. The company was due to leave yesterday morning. They were on a schedule. They had a plane to catch in Seattle. So, the goatfather woke up, glanced into the darkness, poked the goatmother and said, "We don't have any power". Of course. There were only six people in the house that needed to use the 'facilities', not to mention take showers, get fed, etc. Now the goatmother's aunt was nowhere in the vicinity - even in the state - so she could not be blamed for the lack of facilities this time. You might recall from last October, anywhere the goatmother's aunt goes, the commode goes out. It is simply a fact. Come to think of it, she has been on a cruise for the holidays. I wonder if the commodes went out on the boat?

Nevertheless, back to the problem at hand. The goatmother and the goatfather jumped out of bed to begin lighting lamps and candles, build a fire for heat, and to find the jugs of water kept in the cabinet for just such occasions. The jugs are used to flush the facilities. Upon opening the bedroom door, the Mighty Quinn was faced with an unfamiliar body in an unfamiliar shape lying in the darkness and proceeded to bark in alarm waking everyone in the house. Okay, well, they had to get up anyway, didn't they?

So, to make a long story short, the power did finally return and all was well. I am only a goat, but in my humble opinion, if one chooses to visit the goatmother and the goatfather, one should seriously consider bringing their own toilet. I'd love to see airport security deal with that one?

A Very Merry Christmas!

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
A night just like most,
With ice crystals dancing
On field, tree and post.

The Homegoat Security Team was on guard,
Patrolling perimeters, buildings and yard.
And me with my side-panel radar on scan,
Stood watching for coyote, cougar or man.

And when we had made
All the checks we could make,
We ran to the barn
For a much needed break.

I'd just settled in on my side of the stall,
Past Boo who was standing there hogging it all,
When outside the barn there arose such a clatter.
Watson fainted, of course. What the hay was the matter?

I ran to the door and went on alert.
Ella tripped over Watson and fell in the dirt.
Boo just kept on eating, gave Peanut a smile.
He was stuck there behind her and would be for a while.

I peered through the darkness,
Cried out, “What was that?
It’s likely that idiot
Flight-challenged Bat!”

“Duck and Cover!” I cried,
And we all heard a thump.
They’d just better be keeping
Their mitts off my stump!

But then I caught movement
And thought, “Ay, yi, yi!”,
For I saw something strange
Coming out of the sky.

An amphibious sleigh
With lights all aglow.
This is the Pacific Northwest,
Don’t you know?

Well, you see o’er the world,
On one night each year,
St. Magnus Peanutos,
To goats doth appear.

A magnificent beard,
And a full set of horns,
And bags full of cookies,
Alfalfa and corn.

So I was convinced
That it simply must be
That jolly good goat
With his delivery.

Turned out I’d been right
As he came on inside,
Went straight to his work,
Trying hard to decide.

And laying his hoof
Aside of his beard,
He looked straight at me.
It was just as I’d feared.

“I hear you’ve been naughty
Of late, don’t you see?
Still I guess that’s as good
As you’re likely to be.”

So my 12 steps paid off,
And from what I can tell,
The Peanuts he left,
All come three to a shell!

Then amid Watson’s spewing Shakespearean prose,
He leapt to his sleigh and slowly it rose.
And I heard him exclaim,”If you need me just call.
And try to remember, NO butting, you all!”

Merry Christmas!

'Tis the Season

My name is Marigold and I am a buttaholic. Yes, it is true. Remember my former struggle and subsequent membership in the MBA (Myotonic Butters Anonymous)? I have fallen off the wagon. My friends, I am saddened to have you witness this setback. However, this morning I butted Watson - not once, but THREE times in a row. Twice in the side and once square in the goateus maximus. Naturally he fainted, but I was relentless, never allowing him time to fully recover before dealing the next crippling blow. In my defense, it is the holidays, and well, it is just SO difficult to remain 'on the wagon' during the holidays. It has happened time and time again. The parties. The Peanuts. You understand.

The goatmother came unglued and was in my face in an instant. Have you ever come nose to nose with an irate goatmother shaking a finger in your face and demanding cessation of any an all activity that you might even remotely be considering? Allow me to say it is the stuff nightmares are made of.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just the holidays. I mean all this Shakespeare is beginning to grate on every resolve-challenged nerve I have left in my body. Why, even after the first time I butted him, Watson was still spewing forth lines like, "My words fly up, my thoughts remain below!", and, "The quality of mercy is not strained!", and even, " Beware the ides of those born in March!" OY. I lost it. I lost control. I was pushed to the jagged edge, teetering on the brink of madness.

Well, okay, maybe I am a little ashamed. At this time of year, I just hope Santa didn't notice. He is really busy just now. I can see it now - coal and burnt Peanuts in my stocking while everyone else enjoys large, succulent, carefully-roasted delectations. We'll hope Santa can forgive one small and unfortunate incident out of several months of solid constancy. Many's the time I've held myself in restraint.

Still, for all my good intentions, I feel I should impart one last counsel of wisdom and warning to young Mr. Watson. In the words of his very own hero, "There was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently." Wise words. Wise words, indeed, Mr. Shakespeare.

Alas, Poor Yorick ...

This, THIS is what comes of an idle mind with far too little focus on the finer points in life - like Peanuts. Watson has been reading. (Oh, yes, he can read. Who knew?) The problem lies not in the fact that he can read, but with what he has been reading. You see, Watson found a 'study', of sorts, on the internet. The objectives of this study were to determine how often Shakespeare's characters faint, fit or die from extreme emotion. Well, to be sure, the fainting part captured Watson's full attention. It seems that a transient loss of consciousness is staged or reported in 18 cases, and near fainting in a further 13. Reading this was enough to convince Watson that he and Shakespeare share a deep and abiding bond. After all, a faint, is a faint, is a faint, no matter who's doing it.

So, Watson has been walking everywhere spouting Shakespeare like plastic promises from a perfidious politician. Pathetic. In fact, in the picture above, that is exactly what you see happening - Watson regaling Boo with his supposed Shakespearean expertise. He had just finished telling her something about 'the winter of our discontent', or some such nonsense. She looks mesmerized, but then it doesn't take much to impress Boo.

I think it is all a little bit 'over the top' myself. He's much better at solving mysteries. He should stick with what he knows and not with what he thinks he knows. As a matter of fact, just writing about this occurrence has me in an agitated state. "Oh how I faint when I of you do write." (William Shakespeare, Sonnet 80) Oy. Now he's got ME doing it!

On Being Helpful

Helpful. Yes, goats are helpful. In fact, in that regard, goats are probably some of the most auspicious individuals living. They are so auspicious, they could be Buddhist symbols. Of course then there would be nine auspicious symbols instead of eight, but you get my meaning.

Take for example this morning. Someone, I don't know who, has been trying to eat the bark off of the bottom of one of the big trees by the barn. Well, you see, we goats, by nature, are browsers rather than grazers. So the goatmother, being the accommodating soul that she is, made sure we have access to both a pasture and a 'brushy' area. It is in the brushy area that the trees reside. Now, I wouldn't want to point any hooves, but I do think that Ella is the culprit. After all, I've actually seen her peeling the bark off my stump.

Anyway, this morning the goatmother noticed the 'damage' and decided she better do something about it straight away. Most of the trunks are covered with chicken wire already, but someone, had managed to dig the dirt out enough to get to the bark at the bottom. Well, she entered the area replete with all manner of paraphernalia...wire cutters, a hammer, staples, gloves, wire. This is good, yes? This is good, NO! - at least according to her. What can I say? We aim to please. It is just a very minor detail that the 'pleasing' also extends to ourselves. I mean there just has to be something in it for us, doesn't there?

So the chore was accomplished, but not without a lack of true appreciation on the part of the goatmother. Really! I can't understand it. Ella was right there the whole time dutifully shielding the goatmother from any unnecessary interference. Boo and Peanut both tried numerous times to help her carry the sack with the staples in it. Watson tried to carry the wire cutters and her gloves. I, myself, tried very hard to help her cut and fold the wire. And, of course, we all tried to help her get it into place and hammer it in. I fail to see the goatmother's frustration, but frustrated she was. Well, I suppose, in this day and age, people are just in too much of a hurry to truly appreciate the benevolence of individuals willing to offer supportive, valuable and utilitarian assistance when needed. It is a mark of our times. If the goatmother were a little more philosophically-minded, as am I, she would understand that in the end there is no need for frustration. After all, "All things come into being by conflict of opposites, and the sum of things flows like a stream." Heracleitus (Diogenes Laertius IX. 8,9)

Kid of the Year (We Hope)

Okay, well, my friend from Herron Hill Farm, Baby Belle, is having a contest for 'Kid of the Year' and our little Peanut is in the running! So remember you guys, he is the cutest and he deserves to win! There are no rules in this poll, so you can vote as many times as you like! You can vote here. Go Peanut, Go!!!!!

First Impressions

Well now, what is this??? Oh, yes, I remember this stuff. I think it happened last year. I shake my head. Those Woolly Boogers are awesome! We got snow. They said in Seattle that it was only supposed to be something called 'flurries'. That should have been a clue. Instead, I thought they were talking about winter coats. You see when they say in Seattle there is going to be 'weather', we do not get 'weather'. But when they say in Seattle there is not going to be 'weather', Katie, You Old Nanny Goat, Bar the Door! because we are going to get 'weather'. I have only this to say about that , "All Hail those Woolly Boogers!" The Woolly Boogers are definitely where it's at when it comes to 'weather'.

Now, I can't say the snow held any particular fascination for me. I've seen it before. Once is quite enough, thank you very much. Ella saw it, though, and began frolicking about in a ridiculously Ella-esque manner. Boo simply stood there looking perplexed. (In my opinion, Boo being faced with having to contemplate anything 'new' is likely to cause her brain to stall out just shy of overload.) But this was the first time Watson and Peanut had ever seen the white stuff.


Peanut, in typical laissez-faire mode, stopped, looked around and promptly stuck his nose into it. He then decided, 'I'm still really cute, even with snow on my nose!' Okay, well grudgingly I have to admit he has a point.

Watson, on the other hand, displayed a typically methodical approach. "Let's see. First we'll taste it. Tastes okay, but it doesn't seem to do anything. It is kind of cold, but at least it doesn't make me faint."

"Okay, then, let's butt it and see what happens."

"All rightey then. This is white cold stuff. I get it! ... I think."

Yes indeed, in my estimation one should always trust first impressions. After all, they form the basis for all future impressions don't they?

What's my impression of this snow? Hell-oo!? Freezing my goat cakes off here! Ay Carumba.

The Case of the Plopping Poop

I know. Not a very eloquent title is it? What can I say. It is what it is. It's about time we had another mystery around here. What with all this rain recently, my brain was beginning to rust. But to get to the point...what you see above is the source of the mystery. "What the hay is that?!", you ask. Well, that white splotch on the board, sort of to the lower right of the picture, is what has been appearing of late in very unlikely places. Such 'splotches' have occurred in the rafters, on the stanchion, on the mat, and various and sundry strange places well within the interior of the barn. The first time she saw one, the goatmother thought, 'This looks like bird droppings. How can this be? It is winter and there are no birds that would come in the barn. All of the swallows have gone south or wherever it is they go.' And then she dismissed it from her mind. Being predisposed to the unraveling of mysteries, not to mention quite talented in that regard, I continued to ponder the occurrences. That is until last night when the jig was up.

Last night while cleaning up and giving us our nightly ration of hay, something flitted past the goatmother's head. We noticed, but we didn't become alarmed. After all, there was food involved. What could possibly be more important than that? Besides we hadn't received any Peanuts yet. But the goatmother noticed and thought, 'Oh, no. That stupid bat has returned and is going to fall on my head again.' However this time it wasn't the bat.

What you see here is an old swallow nest that exists near the roof of the barn. It is, in fact, so old that if you look closely you can see it sports long strands of horse hair. The people who lived here before the goatmother and the goatfather had horses. That is how old the nest is. So when the mysterious 'flitting' occurred, the goatmother glanced up just in time to see something very small entering the bottom of this nest. As she watched, something then poked it's head out the top of the nest and looked at her.

This is what she saw looking down at her. I know, the picture is not the best and it is kind of blurry. But, what can I say, the goatmother is blonde. Blonde + technological devices doesn't always equal success. I guess you could say blondes are kind of the Nubians of the human world. But I digress...

Okay, the goatmother has sort of redeemed herself with the above photo. Sort of. In her defense, the subject was very quick. Anyway, the mysterious little poop depositor turned out to be a Winter Wren. This one is only about two and a half inches from stem to stern. Still, a mystery is a mystery no matter what size package it comes in. No matter. "Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward." (Sherlock Holmes from The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle)

Under The Wire

My Bad. Seems some tricky reader made it in just under the wire. Thank you Massachusetts! Only 29 states to go! Yes! A Peanut for you!

Dancing Fools

Perhaps you may remember my long ago efforts at working out a routine for 'Dancing With The Stars'? It has all paid off. In spades. Of course the only worthwhile partner I could come up with was Ella, but fame has to have a price. Enjoy this (please click) little holiday 'gift', from our barn to yours!

An Hour To Go

Well, one hour to go in my poll. Looks as though the results are 43 readers in 20 states! The Californians and the Washingtonians seem to be tied for 'most readers', followed closely by those Tennesseans and then the Texans. I have fallen really short of my goal for readers in every state, but then I do have a few more Peanuts to eat in this life so there is hope. Many, many goatly thanks to everyone who participated and to everyone who reads my humble thoughts!
Signed,
Marigold
Goat Philosopher Extraordinaire

Mathematically Speaking

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise!!! It rained again last night. It rained again this morning. Then a rainbow appeared and the sun came out. The goatmother marched herself out to the barn, threw open the barn door and said, "You guys have been in the barn for two days! You're going to get Barn Fever if you stay in here any longer! You need to get some fresh air!" I just looked at her. "I don't think so, Tim."

One measly rainbow and one ray of sunshine does not a nice day make. I prefer to believe the Woolly Boogers. Remember the Woolly Boogers? Those little guys are phenomenal! They know what they are about. The Woolly Boogers said it was going to be a wild ride and a wild ride it has been! Gotta' love those Woolly Boogers. I was right. They were right. It clouded over and rained some more. Oh, yes, I am wise.

Which all leads me to my theorem. Yes, it is a theorem and not a just theory because it is all based on mathematics. You see, during this two, and now three day sojourn in the barn, I have begun to notice something. This is what I noticed: A goat is asked to move. Said goat, seeing this as an imposition, reluctantly moves, but in the process butts another goat the hay out of the way. This goat, in turn, butts the next goat and so on and so forth. It is much like the famous Domino Affect, but involves goats instead of dominoes. So, mathematically speaking, this means: GM₁ x OG₁ = MG² = etcetera ad infinitum. That is to say: GoatMother₁ x ObstinateGoat₁ = MovingGoats², and so on and so forth to infinity (or as many goats as are present to butt the hay out of the way). This phenomenon shall hereafter be known as the Capricornus Affectation Theorem. See what happens when a muy intelligent mind has too much time on its hands?

Entrepeneureal Endeavor

What a day for weather! Wind and rain. Rain and wind...then more wind and rain. Some places on the coasts of Washington and Oregon had winds over 100 miles an hour. I have to say I am very relieved to be living where I do. You see, in our area, a phenomenon occurs called the Olympic Rain Shadow. What happens is that the storms come in off the Pacific Ocean, hit the Olympic Mountains, and literally bounce over and around us. One can look at a radar image and see all other parts of western Washington getting massive amounts of rain, but there will be this nice little hole right over where we live. Because of this, it is often referred to as 'the blue hole'.

Of course we still did get quite a lot of rain here (as you might have heard), but we didn't get nearly as much as everyone else. In fact, in Bremerton, which is about an hour away and very close to where I was born, they recorded 12.75 inches of rain. I am not sure if this was in 48 hours or in 24 , but either way, that is lot of water. I believe my dear friend, and little Mr. Peanut's grandmother, Baby Belle, may be treading water by now. In my opinion, it is a very good thing goats have four legs instead of only two. This means two more oars in the water when necessary.

Anyhow, with all this sogginess, I have been passing my time in the barn (since I am most certainly not going outside) in deep thought. I have come up with a bright idea for a new business. I think I can market it quite well in this region, possibly Oregon, and well, probably quite a few places. What is it, you ask? My plan is to create fashionable little inflatable devices specifically for goats - useful for unexpected flooding or pre-planned vacations to the Bahamas...or Hawaii. And what will these devices be called? Why 'Floaties for Goaties', of course! Naturally I plan to be spokesgoat and primary model. First, however, I need to come up with a prototype. After that I believe it would be most efficacious to do preliminary testing on Boo. Anything that can keep something that size afloat is most definitely an effective product. Good thing the pond is really full at the moment. Now if the wind would just die down.

The Baad House (Part 2)

Someone can be cute and reap all the benefits thereof. Then, in the blink of an eye, it can all go sour on you. Just ask little Mr. Peanut. You see, a day or two ago he was on top. That was a day or two ago. Today? Today he's right down there with the goat berries. Yes, my friends, it is hard to remain constant at those lofty heights.

You see, it seems that one day, some time back, the Mighty Quinn, who loves everyone, was bouncing about in the goat pasture. All of a sudden, the neighbor came driving up the driveway, and the Mighty Quinn ran in rapt joy to greet her. That would have been okay except he was in the goat pasture. The Mighty Quinn did not realize, as we goats do, that there is an electric wire lining the goat pasture. He encountered the wire, was duly zapped, and he hasn't gone near the goat pasture since. But somehow he transferred the negative event to anything having to do with goats. Now I can't say as I'm all that unhappy about it seeing as how this means he won't be trying to herd anything looking even remotely like a goat. However, the goatmother has been very upset. You know that saying, 'When the goatmother ain't happy, ain't nobody happy'?

So, yesterday, the goatmother thought, 'Hmmmmm. If I take the Mighty Quinn in on a leash and then give him lots of doggie cookies, perhaps, in time, he will begin to associate the goat environs with good things'. An admirable plan. Of course this plan did not take into account the totally fractious personality of one little Mr. Peanut. So the Mighty Quinn was placed on the leash and dutifully followed the goatmother into the abyss. As the goatmother reached to open the gate, little Mr. Peanut dashed in with the wings of Mercury on his heels and promptly butted the Mighty Quinn. This in itself would not have been so bad, but yes, you guessed it, he butted the Mighty Quinn right into the electric wire. Oy. Not to mention ouch.

So the goatmother was livid and little Mr. Peanut tumbled from his pedestal. The only thing I've ever butted was another goat! (We will not mention the time I lost control and bit the neighbor for not being forthcoming with the Peanuts. That was, under the circumstances, quite understandable.) Now the goatmother has quadruple the amount of work ahead of her convincing the Mighty Quinn, whom she had hopes of training to herd , that goats are really not from hell. To the Mighty Quinn I offer an old Yiddish saying, "Beser mit a kugn in gehenem eyder mit a nar in ganeydn" Or in English, " Better to be a wise person in Hell than a fool in paradise." To little Mr. high-and-mighty Peanut, I can only say, 'Serves you right, little man!'

Cute

Life is all about being cute. Take, for example, my nephew Peanut. Adorable, right? People look at Peanut, their mouths automatically fall open and 'Awwwwwwwww' comes out. Of course he plays it to the hilt. What can I say? It works.

Being cute can get you a lot of things in this life. For instance, Peanuts. Animal cookies. Grain. Hay. More Peanuts. Attention. More Peanuts. Petting. More Peanuts. Oy. Why couldn't I have been born cute instead of just plain lovely and wise? Let's face it, cute is where it's at.

I can think of a lot of advantages to being cute. For example, you could become a Japanese toy icon like 'Hello, Goaty'. Your face could be passed all over the Internet accompanying inspirational thoughts. You could become the official spokesperson for Peanut Eaters Anonymous. You could be invited to appear in television commercials as living testimony to the awesome nutritional qualities to be found in animal cookies. The possibilities are endless.

On the other hand, there is a down side. If you are cute, there is always someone trying to be just a little bit cuter.

As a philosopher, I can only maintain that cuteness, as beauty, is simply a matter of degree. Everyone is cute. And as a goat, I can only subscribe to the theory set forth by Miss Piggy who said, "Beauty (or in this case cuteness) is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye."

A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing?

Oh, my goat!!!!! WHAT IS THAT THING?!!!! Is it a sheep? Ahhhhh! It's HUGE! Oy. No. It's only a dog. But what a dog! That thing makes the Spruce Goose look like a Cracker-Jack toy! Talk about your Colossus of Rhodes! I think it's even bigger than the Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man! Oy. Where did that thing come from and what the hay is it doing here?

The good news is that Watson didn't faint when it appeared. What fortitude the little man exhibits sometimes. I, for one, thought it was pretty alarming. Ella, of course, being ever-curious-to-the-point-of-stupidity, ran right up to the fence to see what it was. How obtuse can you be?

To be sure, its size isn't the only worrisome problem. As you might note from the above photo, it eats grass. I'm sorry, but the grass belongs to the goats, Fuzzy-Head. What is more, it entered the barn with the goatmother and proceeded to consume Sacred goat Peanuts when offered. BACK OFF, PUFF-BUTT!!!!! We have got to draw the line somewhere. Is this thing going to become a permanent fixture around here?

Well, come to find out, that thing is a standard Poodle and the goatmother and the goatfather are 'dog-sitting' for the neighbors. I guess we are going to have to put up with 'it' for awhile longer. Fortunately, as they say about most objectionable intrusions in life, "And this too, shall pass!" I hope. Just as long as 'it' doesn't have a taste for chevon along with everything else it seems willing to eat. Are we there yet? Oy. It's gonna' be a loooong week. Oh, I forgoat. Happy Thanksgiving! May you be thankful for the many blessings you have (like no colossal kinky-coated canines) and may your Peanut jar always be full!

The Baad House

Hi! Ella here! Yes, I managed, finally to get a word in edgewise here. The truth is that Marigold is somewhat indisposed. Forgive me if I smirk, but Marigold is actually in the 'dog house', a/k/a the 'Baad House', if you please. You see this morning Marigold took it into her head to butt Mr. Peanut. There were no Peanuts (of the plant variety) involved either - not any food for that matter. However, this was not just an ordinary push. No, indeed. Marigold actually knocked the poor little fellow off his feet. Now had that been Watson, it would not have been particularly noteworthy. Can you say, 'Watson's wobble but they always fall down'? But if you have ever noticed, Peanut, though small, is built like a mini-tank. In fact, I deem him sort of the 'Dick Buttttkus' of Nigerians. It takes quite a lot to set that little man off his feet. And so, (giggle) Marigold is in BIG trouble with the goatmother. Couldn't happen to a nicer know-it-all, if you ask me. Psychic goat indeed! Wonder if she saw this coming?

Who Ya' Gonna' Call?

Oy. The power went out again today. Mind you it wasn't out very long, but when it went out I could hear the goatmother yelling, 'Oh, No! Not again!', all that way out to the barn. It was only a little breezy. It wasn't even a major breeze.

The first thing that occurred to the goatmother was that Boo had somehow managed to get out and bribe the power company. You see, today had been deemed monthly hoof trimming day. In light of that, I can well understand how the goatmother might have come to that conclusion. However, it pains me to say, at least this time, Boo was not responsible.

The thing is, here I am the world's first psychic goat and no one bothered to inquire as to whether or not I knew what the problem was. If they had only asked (and perhaps offered a Peanut for my efforts) I would have told them that it was merely the power company working on the lines. I knew. But no...no one has faith in the humble but exceedingly beautiful psychic mini-Nubian.

Perhaps I need to advertise. You know, magazines like Cosmo, GQ, Vogue and 'O', that one that Oprah puts out - all those magazines frequently read by goats in the know. Maybe Martha Stewart. Or maybe I should just consult the Woolly Boogers. Everyone believes the Woolly Boogers. It is difficult to understand, however. They're just worms, for goats' sake! No, indeed, people just have some misbegoatten ideas when it comes to who is to be believed. You think not? I ask you, consider for one moment the state of our political realm. 'Nuf said. Psychic goat, over and out.

What's In Your Future?

Have you ever noticed that you've never seen a Psychic Friends Network for goats? Why IS that? I can think of quite a few instances where this sort of thing could come in quite handy. For example, it might be useful to know just exactly where that missed Peanut fell into the hay so it doesn't have to be sacrificed to some undeserving mouse. Or, it might be nice to know just exactly when the goatmother is going to decide to get up and get out to the barn to distribute Peanuts or hay, and one might have time to get their taste buds primed and knock any would-be usurpers out of the way. Or it might serve to help solve the occasional odd mystery that occurs around here. To be sure, it might prove beyond useful to some poor soul like Watson. I mean if he had known ahead of time the neighbor was going to come up the drive astride that raucous John Deere, it might have spared him the full faint that sent him with all four feet straight out rolling down the hill. Useful. Yes. A very useful skill.

So, I have decided to become the very first psychic goat in a modest effort to fill the gap. What can I say? I'm very civic-minded. Plus, I am not without talent. Being adept at philosophizing sort of predisposes one to perceive the true nature of things. And, really, that is all that is necessary - a sharp, observant mind and a faith in one's own perceptions and feelings. I believe that is me in a Peanut shell!

Of course I expect to encounter 'disbelievers'. Take Boo for example. She is a Nubian and believes only in scientific fact. Unfortunately, her idea of scientific fact runs somewhere along the lines of 'food in = food out'. Oy. To Boo, a dropped Peanut represents no problem because she believes that there will ultimately be another to take its place. Psychically speaking, however, I know that supply will be sporadic and there will NEVER be enough. After all, I am not only psychic, I am a realist (not to mention a connoisseur).

In retrospect, I should have decided to start this yesterday. We just came out of a severe storm with some places near us reaching winds from 40 to over 90 miles per hour! The goatfather's little station at 'the big house', measured 46 mph and electricity was out all the way to the coast for nearly 12 hours. This made it REALLY difficult to pick out the good pieces of hay because it was dark in the barn. It made it even more difficult to grab the Peanuts without dropping them when they were passed out. Plus, with no electricity, the pump wasn't running and there was no water - not to mention the lack of 'facilities' ( for which the goatmother could not lay blame, this time, on her aunt). If I had been with the program a little sooner, I could have tuned in and seen this coming, or at the very least paid a little more attention to those last valiant Woolly Boogers I saw running for cover. At any rate, I am resolute now. Do you suppose 1-800-MARGOLD is already taken? Ah, yes! I sense that it should still be available!

By the way, if you haven't yet entered your location in the poll, please be sure to do so! Oh, yeeeessss... I am feeling there are more of you out there...

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The Poll

What can I say? Inquiring minds want to know! After reading a recent comment from a reader, it occurred to me that I have a new goal in life. No, it is not the acquisition of all the Peanuts in the Universe, although, I have to admit this would be most interesting. No, my new goal is to have a reader in every state of the U.S. and as many countries as possible. Now that is an honorable, if not formidable goal, don't you think? So, in order to achieve success, it also occurred to me that I needed to know where the readers I already have are located. Now, if you look to the left of the page, you will see that a poll has been created. I know. In this age of campaigns, elections and Gallup polls, who wants to see another one? But, I assure you, this one is important! After all, I see myself as a purveyor of truth. And everyone knows, "The truth can be spoken only by one who rests in it." - Ludwig Wittgenstein.

So, participate, please! You have until December 6!

BOO!

The witching hour is upon us. Goblins are gobbling. Ghosts are moaning. Monsters are wreaking havoc. Bats are flying (or not, depending on if they have recently landed on anyone's head and been knocked senseless). Spiders are spinning. Black cats are traversing the land in opportunistic search of well-mulched flowerbeds. The veil between the worlds thins as we speak. Look carefully. You may just catch a glimpse of a dark form gliding past the moon, wearing a large black hat with a red buckle. BaaHaHaHaHa!!! Do not be afraid. Simply leave Peanuts on the doorstep.

Fame Is A Fleeting Thing

There will be NO living with him now! Watson has become a 'calendar guy'. Just check this out.
Oy. Yes, Watson is featured as 'Mr. February' in the new 2008 Fainting Goat Calendar. Personally, I don't see it. He's nice and he makes a good assistant, but let's face it. He just isn't 'all that and a bag of Peanuts' when it comes to looks. Plus, if you add in the whole 'faint-if-I-see-a-bird-fly-over-or-somebody-looks-cross-eyed-at-me' thing, well, you understand where I'm going with this. I suppose the best we can hope for is that fame won't affect him. Still, I'd be willing to bet he's considering a position with the Chippengoats. I'm here to tell you, though, if he even thinks about doing a centerfold, I'm outta' here!

How Time Flies!

As of last Friday, it has been one year since I came to live here and savored my very first Peanut. I can not even begin to remember a time without them. Oh, Sacred Peanuts! One whole year. As a great philosopher once said, "All that we know comes from sense experience, and from reflection upon experience." - John Locke

Word!, Bro. Life is good!

Jenny Craig, Please Help!

Today the goatmother decided to trim Boo's hooves. Ordinarily, in a perfect world, this would not be cause for concern. The world is not perfect. Boo is overweight. Why else would we refer to her as the U.S.S. Boo? However, Boo is not really just overweight. Boo has sort of gone more into the realm of 'Caution: Extremely Wide Load', or 'Danger!, Contents Under Extreme Pressure', or 'Lookout Bro!, Big Wack Booty In Da Hood!' To top it all off, Boo is not even remotely interested in being cooperative when it comes to having her monthly 'hooficure'.

So, the play-by-play unfolds like this: There is no way in hay that Boo is going to get up on that stand. Used to be you could get her head in the front and the goatfather could lift her back end up on the stand. Used to be. That was back when she weighed a mere 160 pounds. At last count, Boo weighed in at a whopping 200 pounds of non-lean, non-cooperative, caprine chaos. Chaos? Sweet little Boo? Obviously you have never seen her when a) food is involved or b) her feet are involved. As a matter of fact, when Boo walks across the pasture it measures a good 5.0 on the Richter scale. If she runs, it's 'Duck and Cover!' (Except for Watson who has fainted back at the gate from the original seismic disturbance.) Therefore, the goatmother puts a leash on her collar and ties her up. A bucket of nice alfalfa pellets and grain is placed in front of her in an effort to distract her attention. No problemo, right? Wrong. She pulls, she twists, she becomes 'Mighty Pretzel-Goat', she dumps the bucket of goodies (how sinful!), she falls down, she gets up, she, horror of horrors, bites the goatmother on the butt!!! Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!! Trust me, even the neighbors know when Boo gets her hooves trimmed. Perhaps even the neighbor's neighbors know. Several miles away they probably know when Boo is getting her hooves trimmed. Oy.

I, myself, can NOT understand this. I mean there is food involved. Wouldn't you think that would create some incentive for her to act well? Plus, the real problem is that as long as Boo remains in her present 'condition', NONE of the rest of us are ever going to see even one kernel of grain.

I'm not taking this lying down - or standing up or even thinking on my stump! As we speak I am composing a letter to Jenny Craig. I have no doubt they will take her on when I explain to them just how desperate we are and just how many Peanuts are involved in the pay-off. After all, who in their right mind could possibly resist that? If Kirstie Alley can do it, so can Boo. That's it. PERIOD. End of discussion.

As for the goatmother, she'll be the one sporting that nice goat-bite imprint on her cakes. How avant-garde! Très chic!!! I mean ain't nobody got a tattoo like that one!

Always Trust A Wooly Booger

So you see, of late we have seen many, many of these little guys crawling about the barn and environs. I know, people refer to them as Woolly Bears, but I call them Woolly Boogers. I'm a goat. What do I know? In truth, they are the larvae of the Spotted Tussock Moth. More night fliers. Just what we need around here.

Still, the Woolly Boogers are quite useful. People have their long-range forecasting models and their Doppler radars, learned meteorologists, and all sorts of 'equipment' to forecast the weather. With all that equipment, one would think they'd have the weather pegged, wouldn't one? But, no, most of the time they say it will do one thing and it actually does quite another.

Goats, on the other hand, have a much more sophisticated and reliable means of predicting the weather. At least in the case of the winter weather. You see, the way it works is that in the Fall if one notices many Wooly Boogers crawling about , resting on latches, falling in the water tub, crawling up the side of the barn, or residing on that dried leaf you had your eye on from way across the pasture, it means we are going to have an 'exciting' winter.

Now exciting can mean a lot of different things, but in general it means we are in for a wild ride. Maybe a lot of wind and rain, maybe a lot of snow, maybe a lot of cold. Take last year, for example. We were treated to great 'herds' of these Woolly Boogers, and sure enough, we had one of the wildest Novembers on record. That one month contained everything from huge winds, to record rainfall, flooding, snow and even thunderstorms.

I will say that I don't believe I've noticed quite as many this year as last year. That has to be a good thing, but I'm sure we're in for at least some snow. As a matter of fact, we had our first significant snow in the mountains in the middle of September! That is WAY ahead of the normal schedule. I suppose that means the goatmother is going to be bandying about on that sled again. Oy.

So, you can have your La Nina's and whatever else those weather guys come up with, but we goats know that you always but ALWAYS trust the Woolly Booger. It's just that simple.

A Ferocious Fall

Well, well, well. If they say, 'Spring has sprung', then I guess you could say, 'Fall has fell'! All right. I know that isn't very eloquent (let's just say Ella thought of it...). However, the fact is that instead of easing into Fall as we usually do, Fall has entered doing great goatie leaps! We've already had a deluge of rain complete with 44 mile per hour winds and it has already snowed up in the mountains. Ay yi yi.

Along with the high winds, there was a period of 10 hours with no electricity in the barn (or anywhere else). It made it extremely difficult to select the best stems of hay. Anyway, at the time, the goatmother's aunt and cousins were visiting from Arkansas and Texas. Since we had no electricity, no bathroom services were available for awhile either. I heard that everywhere the goatmother's aunt goes, the commode goes out. In essence I suppose it was probably her propensity for a lack of 'facilities' that caused the whole power outage. Stranger things have happened.

And you know, whole trees came down in the wind. One fell on the neighbor's wood shed and several went down around our pasture. Of course this hasn't been all bad because the goatmother keeps supplying us with lots of leafy limbs. Viva les feuilles! Plus the goatfather has gotten to use the chainsaw which always puts him in a mucho macho good mood. I believe it has something to do with those primal pioneer genes harbored by males, though I can't be positive.

So, today we had a thunderstorm, which is not normal fare for this part of the country at all. The goatmother says some people even had hail. You know, that stuff that falls from the sky and looks like frozen white goat berries? Still, you couldn't swear by me, since I had my head buried in a succulent flake of hay at the time.

The very worst part of this whole thing, though, is that with the arrival of THE TIRE, in addition to the unsavory weather, those of us dedicated to maintaining a peaceful environment, remaining ever-vigilant, and upholding the directives of Homegoat Security have become somewhat lax in our resolve. Witness the picture snapped at 8:00, this morning! Yes, what you see is a large and apparently well-fed coyote strolling placidly down the road in extremely close proximity to our pasture and THE TIRE! Oy. OY. The only redeeming factor in this situation is that if Watson had seen him, he probably would have fainted. As it is, he was spared. Still, this can not be good. Not good at all. I suppose, in retrospect, it is quite a good thing that the coyote appeared well-fed. It leaves a lot less room for chevon on the menu, and that just has to be a good thing in my estimation.

To Concede Or Not To Concede.

Okay, I've been considering this whole 'tire' situation. Actually I find that it does look somewhat interesting after all.

Perhaps if I am quite careful, Ella won't notice me.

So far, so good. While Peanut occupies her interest, I can simply slip in the back door, so to speak.

At last! Success is mine! Why this is fun! Who knew??? What's that you say, Watson? You want up too? I just don't believe there is room. Besides, you know, Watson, you would probably just faint anyway. Plus, I am sure this unique tire has far more interesting attributes than can be afforded by merely jumping atop it.

You are absolutely correct, Marigold! You can hear the ocean!!! You are so wise!

That's Entertainment!

Today the neighbor brought a huge, big old tire to the goatmother. She had him drop it over the fence .

Some, who shall remain nameless but whose images appear above, were instantly fascinated. I say 'instantly', mind you, but this excludes the initial panic created by the appearance of the tractor.

Really, I just don't understand the appeal. After all it is just old black rubber. There were absolutely NO peanuts involved. Even Watson was enamored, although I believe he was probably responding more out of envy that my nephew, Peanut, actually made it into the center. That and the fact that he had managed not to faint at any point during the whole affair. I honestly think Watson thinks Peanut can fly.

At any rate, there is just no accounting for taste here. I'm seriously shocked that Ella the ever-curious wasn't up there trying to hog the spotlight. I doubt Peanut would have cared, though. He even broke into a little dance out of sheer delight. Oy. Some folks are far too easily entertained.

Some of us with better taste find it all a bit boring. This, of course, has nothing to do with the fact that at least a couple of us might have to expend a little too much energy to actually make it atop this monstrosity. Far, far easier to soak up these last rays of sun before Fall realizes it has actually arrived. Now that's entertainment!

Rock Hard and Twice As Mean

It is official. Tonight the goatmother went back to the house feeling like the lowest of the low, fully convinced she will soon be written into the annals of the meanest people alive. Now the goatmother is a lovely person, you say. How could this be? Well, it seems that tonight was the beginning night of no more bottles for little Mr. Peanut. Weaning time is at hand. There is no more milk...zilch...nada...none. Ouch.

Of course Peanut and Watson got a little bit of grain to replace the bottle, so I, myself, don't really see what the big deal is. We don't get any grain. As a matter of fact, even Watson couldn't see the problem. His thought was that as long as the animal cookies are forthcoming, all is copasetic.

But Peanut just didn't see it that way. So, as the goatmother trudged toward the house, she was followed by echoes of pathetic little dragonfly bleating. Guilt is alive and well. As for me, I think it's gonna' be a long night.

And Thereby Hangs A Tail: The Return

Yesterday morning the goatmother was on her way to dump the daily dose of goat berries on the big 'ole goaty poop mountain, a name to which it is most lovingly referred. As she walked along with the goatfather, something on the ground caught her eye. "Look at that! What is it? It looks like a dead bat!" The goatfather walked calmly over and touched it with his shoe. The bat ( for that is indeed what it was ) was, in fact, not dead. No indeed. Well, I'll be 'et fer a Peanut!!! It was the return of that wayward little fellow who earlier in the year bopped the goatmother on the head! Well, at least we *think* it was the same little guy. Who can be sure? After all, everyone knows bats all look alike. Probably causes identity issues.

At any rate, the goatmother rolled her eyes and sighed. Time to go get the whisk broom and the dust pan - again. So the goatfather marched off to get said paraphernalia and came back to begin the countdown for Lunar Launch II. As one might have been predicted, those early morning launches rarely see success. Just as before, the little fellow extended his wings and floated nonchalantly to the earth.

Back to the shelf in the old chicken coop. Now since the bat was found just outside the barn, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that he was headed for the Sacred Grain Room. In fact I'm pretty sure I heard some cursing and mumbling coming from that dust pan on its way back to the old chicken coop. Of course I can't be completely sure. Nonetheless, upon reaching the old coop, it was found that somebody new was already there waiting. Who knew? This time, however, the goatmother had her wits about her and got a picture as proof. After all, a picture is worth a thousand words isn't it?

So after being placed on the shelf, the directionally and altitudinally-challenged foundling managed to crawl across and hook onto the wall just like his pal. I suppose mimicry is one of the most sincere forms of flattery. That's what they say anyway. It must be true. After all, my nephew, Peanut, following my lead, is eating Peanuts now. I wonder...does this make him a cannibal?

The Dilemma of the Dropped Door

At last. AT LAST! A new case is afoot! Finally my dear Watson and I have something to sleuth again! Of course now we are going to have to include my nephew, but every rose has it's thorn. So, allow me to relate the scenario to you, my dear friends!

It was a hot day, nearing the end of summer. The grass was dry and crackled beneath our hooves. The goatmother had been out watering her many plants, dragging hoses here and there. The day had been quite odd, in a sense. It seemed a day filled to the brim with animals gone mad.

The first indication that something was amiss occurred when the goatmother trudged toward the barn to move one of her many hoses. She had just given the Mighty Quinn a bath the day before and was thinking fondly of how nice and fluffy he looked, how soft his fur felt, and how nice he smelled. As she passed the pond, the corner of her eye caught a form lying almost completely submerged in its duck-weed-filled, somewhat muddy shallow. Was it an alligator? In Washington? Naaaah. The goatmother whirled about to face the monster, only to encounter the previously clean, but absolutely no longer, Mighty Quinn, lying up to his ears in the soup. The Mighty Quinn has a new sobriquet now. To be exact, it is 'Pond Scum', or 'Mr. Pond Scum', depending on how benevolent one feels.

This incident, however, was not the only bit of 'different' behavior exhibited by the Mighty Quinn. Now as I said, it is the end of summer. Therefore, the trees in the front yard, which are fruit trees, all have fruit, and are all beginning to drop said fruit. There are delicious plums (just ask Ella - the pig eats them, seed and all, and ends up with juice dripping all down her chin), apples, cherries and pears. Of all these fruits, the Mighty Quinn has taken a shine to a pear...and I mean 'A' pear - as in one. Anytime he is let outside, he comes dashing out the door and runs to find 'his' pear, which he then proceeds to run around the yard with, tossing it up in the air, catching it and running to and fro, hither and yon, over hill and over dale. I would imagine that it is a darned good thing that the pear isn't quite ripe or he might end up looking like Ella in the plums. Still in all, I suppose it is only a matter of time. At any rate, this was the second strange event of the ill-fated day.

Next, the goatmother observed that everyone of the goat 'people' seemed to be bent on a 'butt' fest! I was smacking Peanut, and to his credit, Peanut was rearing up on his hind legs and smacking me right back. Then Peanut decided to butt Watson, which naturally caused Watson to faint, at which time Ella decided to come after me, and Boo decided to go after Peanut. It was a veritable madhouse of goats meeting head to head, head to butt, and occasionally head to broadside. I rather enjoyed the whole thing myself, but the goatmother was a bit non-plussed. Really it was all just innocent fun. I can't imagine what all the fuss was about.

Nonetheless, you are probably wondering where in the hay the 'mystery' part comes into all this.
Well, after the goatmother was properly primed with all these other 'events', she set out for the barn to give us our meager portion of hay for the night, Peanut his bottle, and to pass out the customary round of cookies and Peanuts (the eating kind, not the goat kind). Goatness Gracious!!!! She looked into the barn and the door between the two stalls was completely off its hinges and remaining upright only because it was still attached by the chain she puts on to keep it held open during the day!!! Now the hinges on this door sit upon two large metal pieces that are turned up toward the ceiling. The only way to remove the door from its hinges is to lift it up in the air and then slide both parts off the upturned bolts. Now HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN???? Goats do not have arms. So, I employed ratiocination and then I looked at Watson. Watson looked back at me and then at Peanut. Peanut looked back at Watson and then at Ella. Then we ALL turned and looked at Boo. Only the U.S.S. Boo is large enough to move the immovable. Boo simply stared back with a 'What?' look on her face.

So there you have it. The Dilemma of the Dropped Door. How did it happen? Who was cunning enough to maneuver the door off its hinges, or who was simply dumb enough and large enough to move it accidentally and never realize what had occurred? Well, as my hero would say, "Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing. It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different." (Sherlock Holmes, from The Boscombe Valley Mystery). To the stump, Watson! to the stump!!!

Good Genes

Goat Grief! Literally. That is not a mere exclamation. Hi! Peanut here. Well, it seems that today was the day. The goatmother decided it was time the Amazon women and I worked out the whole 'pecking order' thing. I really don't understand why since we are goats and NOT chickens, but there you have it. It is what it is. Actually it wasn't all that bad. Auntie Marigold has been relatively successful in following her new-found 12-step rules (although, I guess, in her case it would be 36-step rules since she has three programs). Anyway, Auntie Marigold only took a couple of half-hearted swipes at me, so I think she is doing rather well. However, Boo, the supposed 'monarch', is quite another story. In the above photo, you see the U.S.S. Boo in full pursuit mode and me dashing away while yelling, "Run Watson! Get the hay out of the way!!!".

So I tried camouflage in hopes that she wouldn't see me. I tried very hard to blend in with the surroundings. Peanut on the rocks anyone?

It didn't work all that well, but as you can see, in the end, with my svelte body and superior locomotion, I quite literally left her in the dust. She looks awfully confused, don't you think? I'm sure she didn't expect such athletic prowess and mental perspicacity from one so small and seemingly insignificant...but then, she doesn't know about my mom! I'm not Hannah Belle Lecter's son for nothin'!!!

Plus, as a result, all was not lost. It seems Ella actually likes me! I'm sure that will frustrate Auntie Marigold to no end, but what's a guy gonna' do? I guess I got a little of that 'swave and deboner' from my dad after all.

No 'Rest' For the Wicked

Hi! My name is Peanut! You are probably wondering why I get to write in Auntie Marigold's blog. Well, I think it is because I'm related. I also think it is possibly because I don't like Peanuts.

Auntie Marigold is taking a small 'rest' today. You are probably wondering why Auntie Marigold needs a rest. Well, Auntie Marigold has been having a few problems lately regarding a couple of groups she is in. One is called the 'MBA' and the other is called the 'NBA'. The first one is to help her not to be so crabby with Watson. The second one is to help her not to be so crabby with me .

But Auntie Marigold is taking a 'rest' today to hopefully help 'analyze' her newest problem. In fact, she's out on her stump right now dissecting it all bit by bit. I think she is contemplating joining a new group called the 'BA'. Between you and me, I don't think she's doing very well. It all started, you see, some time back. Perhaps you remember one day when the goatmother was leaning over to do some chore and Auntie Marigold reached over and bit her? That was only the beginning. Since then, every time the Sacred Peanuts are not forthcoming, Auntie Marigold begins to have thoughts of a mordacious nature. Well, it seems that the day before yesterday, the neighbor came to visit. He actually came to see me, (I am kind of cute, if I do say so myself). After visiting with me and watching Watson start to faint due to the proximity of the standard poodle, the neighbor stood around in the big pen chatting with the goatmother and the goatfather. He was quite focused on the conversation. No Peanuts were forthcoming. Auntie Marigold lost control. This is why she is considering joining Biter's Anonymous. Pretty soon maybe she'll have a group for every day of the week. That should top some kind of record, don't you think?

So, yes, today Auntie Marigold is taking a 'rest'. I can tell you, there is a lot of soul-searching going on atop that stump. Even Ella is afraid to go near her. This situation doesn't bode at all well for me. My mother has spent a lot of time in the horse trailer, time-out jail cell because she is overly fond of defying attempts to keep her corraled. (You can read about one such recent incident here.) Now Auntie Marigold is biting? Maybe, just maybe, if I work really hard, I can make sure I follow in my father's footsteps. His side of the family seems a lot less 'intense'.

Be All That You Can Be

I've been thinking - always a dangerous prospect in some regards. Nevertheless, I've been thinking. We are quite the eclectic herd. I believe the goatmother subscribes to that motto, 'Give me your tired (Boo), your poor (myself), your hungry... (well, let's face it...this includes most everyone here.)'. Anyway, ethnic diversity reigns supreme on these shores! Wikipedia states, "An ethnic group is a group (of people ) who identify with one another, or are so identified by others, on the basis of a boundary that distinguishes them from other groups. This boundary may take any of a number of forms -- racial, cultural, linguistic, economic, religious, political -- and may be more or less porous. Because of this boundary, members of an ethnic group are often presumed to be culturally or biologically similar, although this is not in fact necessarily the case."

So, I thought, let us examine this idea in the context of our situation. First, I suppose we need to get rid of that ridiculous part that says it must be a group 'of people'. Jumpin' Jehosagoat! How egotistic is that?! Goats can be ethnic. I mean we have a Nubian, a mini-Nubian, an Alpine, a Nigerian and a, well, a 'Myotonian'! And, we all identify with each other just like the definition says. (Well, I don't really 'identify' with Ella, but that is beside the point.)

The definition goes on further to say that a group is identified by others on the basis of boundary. We certainly have that, and our boundary even has electric wire! We have different 'races' (Ella usually wins, but that is only because her legs are the longest), and 'cultures' (I like my Peanuts fed by hand. Ella doesn't care how she gets them, as long as she gets them. Boo likes them, but often can't remember if she already had them or not. Watson only likes animal cookies. Mr. Peanut is very partial to milk at the moment.).

As far as 'linguistics' go, now there we have the corner on diversity. I, myself, rarely speak unless it is worthwhile, and then it is just kind of a small and quiet 'nnnnn'. Ella is miss machine gun voice, doing rapid-fire repeats any time she sees or hears the goatmother. Watson has a true 'maaaaaa', and is usually pretty persistent about it, particularly when animal cookies are involved. Little Mr. Peanut sounds like a dragon fly in flight. And, last but in no way least, Boo has all the vocal timbre of a sick elk and twice the volume! So, yes, I believe we have the whole 'linguistics' angle in the bag.

Now the last part talks about 'economics' , 'religion' and 'politics'. We can fit into those categories too. Economically we are vastly rich if you count our huge store of Sacred Peanuts. Admittedly we are a little low in the 'alfalfa' category, but that is just because everyone is on a diet right now. It won't last. (I hope...). Religiously we all wait every morning, noon and night for our ration of Peanuts. And let me tell you, we are VERY religious about it! Politically, well, Boo, as I have mentioned, *thinks* she's Queen, but I didn't vote for her. In fact, if I'd had my druthers I would probably have voted for the Mighty Quinn since his allegiance lies only with frisbees, stinky things and anything that moves. No competition for the Peanuts. That kind of thinking will ALWAYS get my vote.

Now the last little bit of this definition says that members are thought to be biologically similar, but that this isn't necessarily the case. Of course that isn't necessarily the case! Duh!!! I can assure you that I am in no way biologically similar to Watson. We just don't even want to go there. Why I'm not even biologically similar to Boo since I could not, in my wildest dreams, EVER be that *large*. So you see, it 'ain't necessarily so', just like the definition says.

Still, with all the cultural pluralism that exists in our diverse and eclectic group, we are a shining example of integration at it's finest. After we manage to get all the 'politics' out of the way and figure out who is where in the pecking order, we seem to manage pretty well as a team. Everybody ends up with their own Peanuts or animal cookies, their own hay, their own grain (not nearly often enough) and even their own space. After all, it is the American way to bring together the many, in unity, to become the one. E Pluribus Unum!!!