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.