Once In A Blue Moon

Look at that! The goatmother took this picture last night. Tonight is not only the full moon, but it marks one of the rare occurrences called a 'Blue Moon'. What is that, you ask? Well, there are different definitions, apparently, but the most modern one says that a Blue Moon occurs when a full moon comes twice within one month. (For other definitions, please see here.) Because the lunar cycle, the time between the new and full moon, is only 29.5 days long, and because the calendar months are longer than this, except for Februrary which is shorter, it causes the full moon to occur a little earlier than the previous month as time goes by. Eventually, approximately every two and a half years to be exact, a month will have two full moons.

Now, that being said, the next 'Blue Moon' will occur on August 31, 2012. Even better, the year 2018 will have two 'Blue Moons' in one year, January 31st and March 31st. Now won't that be cool?

According to some folklore, when a Blue Moon' occurs, it will have a face and talk to anyone who stands in its light. This sounds kind of spooky to me, but you know, I want to give it a try. Don't you think a moon might consider conversing with a humble goat standing on a stump? Hey, it could happen. Oy. I might finally get the answer to the Universe, Life and the true meaning of Peanuts. Although, come to think of it, I probably already know the answer to that last one.

At any rate, tonight will be a very rare occurrence. And most especially, with it being the beginning of a whole New Year, I think we ought to embrace it and take the opportunity to ask for a fabulous year ahead for ourselves and all those poor folks without jobs, income, love, health, friendship, meaning or Peanuts in their lives. After all, it is said that the energy of a 'Blue Moon' is magnified three-fold. Three. That's a good number. Kind of like those 3-to-a-shell Peanuts.

So, my friends, grasp this opportunity to consider things and perhaps change some old ideas. After all, you know what they say - if you don't like the scenery, change the point of view. "Every once in a blue moon, something new comes along that scrambles your preconceptions." - Unknown.

A Goat's Guide To The New Year

Of course the New Year ALWAYS brings with it this idea of 'resolutions'. To my way of thinking, resolutions are kind of useless. I mean, if they worked, would we need to keep making them year after year? So, this year I thought I would just present you with some 'Peanuts for thought' - some conclusions I came to during 2009 that will guide me forward instead of backward. After all, going backward just doesn't get you anywhere does it? So with that, here are my thoughts. It is my hope that they may help point you toward a better 2010.

1) With all the hype one sees in the media about 'perfection', one should come to realize that who you are is much more important than what you are. Who cares if your ears stick out straight? Know that you are beautiful on the inside and that, when all is said and done, you will have the last laugh. Looks don't last forever, but a beautiful soul shines on.

2) Don't always keep the best Peanuts for yourself. Sometimes it just feels better to give. Sometimes giving is where it's at.

3) Don't be afraid to 'love someone from a distance'. You can still acknowledge them without having them ruin or run your life. Nobody said that 'turning the other cheek' had to mean hurting yourself.

4) Realize that you are 'good enough'. Remember that line about 'God don't make no junk'?

5) Know that you are ALWAYS in exactly the place you ought to be. There's ALWAYS another Peanut just around the bend, even if someone just stepped on the last one.

6) If someone butts you, know that you can still pick yourself up (particularly if you are Watson), dust off all the bits of hay and goat berries, and TRY again. There are ALWAYS more Peanuts. Besides, eventually the greedy get full.

7) Always remember that in order to help anyone else you have to help yourself first. That doesn't mean you have to be first in line for the Peanuts and push others out of the way. Nope. It just means that it is okay to love yourself too. After all, if 'you' were someone else, wouldn't you treat 'them' much better than you often treat yourself??? I rest my case. So be your own BFF.

8) It is okay to stand on your stump and relax once in awhile. Life isn't always about work. Of course not! It's all about the Peanuts.

9) Remember what someone else thinks isn't all that important. Value your opinion and your judgment. Besides, in the end it's you that has to savor the taste of that Peanut. What does it matter if someone else thinks 2008 was a better year for growing if the 2009 ones taste better to you?

10) Never get overwhelmed by what you have to do. Don't look at the entire bale of hay. Take it a few mouthfuls at a time.

So there you have it. May your New Year hold the promise of Peanuts to come and the joys of living life to its fullest. And may you receive fewer butts in 2010 than you had to endure in 2009. " We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called 'Opportunity' and its first chapter is New Year's Day." - Edith Lovejoy Pierce

Merry Whew!

I made it... just barely.


In case you didn't notice, that one with the red bow is a 3-to-a-sheller. SCORE!!!!! I managed to make it under the wire by the hair of my chinny, chin chin. Oy.

I am going to start right now getting ready for next year. I won't let St. Magnus Peanutos pass me by. No Goatee! For "I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year." - Charles Dickens.

Merry Christmas, all Y'all! Try not to butt anyone. He's always watching, you know.

Goat of the Year Poll

Now you see, over at my birth farm they are having a poll for Goat of the Year. Peanut won this in the past - twice. So, Peanut would like you to go over and vote for his State Champion modelesque sister, Cora Belle. I, however, would like you to vote for Melody because she is a thinking kind of goat. Naturally I am in support of ratiocination of any kind. So follow this link and vote. Thanks to Melody, we can now vote as many times as we like. That is the true spirit of democracy. Pad the results. After all, it is Christmas time - a time of giving.

Oy To The World

For unto me an idea is born. Yes, it occurred to me that this time of year presents a special opportunity to philosophize. I, being very adept at such musings, have decided to seize the moment and present you with some of my thoughts for the season.

First of all, what is with all the singing anyway? Why is it this time of year everyone goes around singing or humming Christmas music? I'm telling you, if I hear Boo humming 'Away in a Manger' one more time when the goatmother brings out the hay, I am just going to haul off and butt her one. Food should be savored in silence (with the exception of yummy noises) no matter the time of year. It has been that way for centuries. Really.

Secondly, what is with all this decking of the halls? I mean Thanksgiving came and went and the next thing you know the goatmother is out here trying to put up holly in the barn. "It's festive!', she says. Oy. No one in their right mind would try to eat that stuff. It has stickers on it for goat's sake.

Then you have this thing where Ella keeps perking up her ears and asking, 'Do you hear what I hear?' For baaing out loud. Every time she does this Watson becomes alarmed thinking something is coming after him and nearly faints. Naturally she thinks this is just way too funny and immediately starts plotting the next time she can spring it on him. I would like to suggest to Ella that she become familiar with the story of the goat who cried wolf.

Then you have Peanut who keeps jumping atop my stump and shouting 'Go tell it on the mountain!' Go tell what? That you have violated someone else's sacred thinking space? I'll go and tell you to get the hay off my stump!!! I don't lend my stump to anyone, even if they were voted cutest kid - twice.

Anyway, by now you are probably expecting me to say 'Bah! Humbug!', but I assure you I do have some Christmas spirit. Stop with the 'You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch', already. Why, every Christmas eve at midnight, when all the animals in the barn are supposed to speak, I remain devoutly silent waiting for the arrival of St. Magnus Peanutos. What? You've never heard of 'Silent Night'? Well, just in case you have forgotten who St. Magnus Peanutos is, you can refresh your memory here. ) My friends, I am sincere just like Linus' pumpkin patch. Three-to-a-shell Peanuts shall be my reward. And when they come, you can bet your sweet Peanut-tooty you'll be hearing the 'Hallelujah! Chorus'!

Pay No Attention To The Man Behind The Curtain

This is just NOT right. Don't listen. I think it is a hoax. Look here ... or don't. What-ever. This is way too upsetting. Where are those Peanuts?

Let It Snow ... Or Not

Now look at this would you? It simply can not snow. I say so. After all, I'm a frugal kind of goat and, well, we just haven't used up what we already have. But, hey, at least the temperature this morning was a few degrees higher than it has been.

Of course I'm having a little trouble hearing because of all the moaning and groaning. 'Oh, that Ella...', you say. But you know what? For once it isn't her. No, all that grieving is coming from the inner sanctum of the barn. It would seem that last night the goatmother absolutely refused to place anymore cookies in the Have-A-Heart trap. Apparently the Ghost of Christmas Mouses' Past is having a little trouble dealing with the lack of supply.

Well, that's the way the cookie crumbles. (Snort! )

And The Beat Goes On...

What, Ho! Marigold Holmes here. Here is an update on the Christmas Mystery. The cookies continue to disappear despite the closed condition of the Have-A-Heart trap. A friend of the goatmother's has suggested that perhaps the cookies themselves are possessed. I can not, in all good conscience, accept this theory since possessed cookies would slobber. I have seen no slobbering cookies except in the mouth of Boo. I suppose one might surmise that any cookie finding itself within the mouth of Boo might indeed become possessed, but I simply can not agree that said cookie would have been possessed prior to that moment. After all, it might have thought it was coming to me.

Nonetheless, it is my theory that soon the Ghost of Christmas Mouses' Past will become so fat it can no longer slip in and out of the trap. Then the jig will be up! Hey. It's my theory and I'm sticking to it. "The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our profession. " - Sherlock Holmes.

The Christmas Pudding Thickens...

...or is it the plot? Marigold Holmes here and her faithful assistant Fainting Watson. It would seem that solving the Christmas mystery continues to elude us all. Last evening, the goatmother entered the barn to prepare our nightly repast. The very first thing she did, after turning on the light of course, was to take the flashlight and check the condition of the newest animal cookie left atop the toggle of the trusty Have-A-Heart live trap previously set that morning with both doors shut and locked. Oddly, the cookie seemed to have slipped a bit off the old toggle. Well, vibration and all that rot to be sure.

And so, the goatmother went about her tasks. First (and foremost) she fed us Peanuts. ( Some of us complain quite loudly if the Peanuts are not administered forth with. I wouldn't know who that would be.) Anyway, she then proceeded into our side of the barn to pick up any *deposits*, most likely left by Boo and Peanut, as none of the rest of us ever do anything like that. This didn't take very long. The goatmother then re-entered the barn to gather a couple of flakes of succulent hay for our evening meal. Upon passing the trap, lo and behold the cookie was missing! It was in the corner of the trap peeking timidly through one of the ever-so-small squares. " How can this be??!!! I was just in here!", she exclaimed. "I didn't see anything, and what animal would try to steal a cookie with me here and running about?!"

In the meantime, Ella had managed to again allow herself into the inner sanctum via the all-too-well-oiled latch. She managed to grab a mouthful of Comfrey the goatmother keeps atop the highest stack of bales for, shall we say, intestinal emergencies, before being aptly shooed back to our side by the now sadly befuddled goatmother.

Okay, my dear Watson. What do you think? It simply CAN NOT be Tiny Tim. That just isn't a feasible explanation. What? All-rightey then. Perhaps the Ghost of Christmas-Mouses-Past is worth considering. (Calm down. I know it is supposed to be *mice*. But *mouses* just sounds better and I'm all about quality writing you know.)

Ebenezer: Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?
Spirit of Christmas Past: I am.
Ebenezer: Who and what are you?
Spirit of Christmas Past: I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.
Ebenezer: Long past?
Spirit of Christmas Past: No, your past.

Oy.

'Tis A Christmas Mystery

Morning dawned amidst the frost. And I do mean frost. Eighteen blessed degrees worth of frost. Oy. Anyway, What Ho!, Watson! A new mystery is afoot! It has been some time since we have had to put our caps of ratiocination to good use. (Some of us have never even put on our caps of ratiocination. Ever. I hesitate to mention any Nubian names...)

At any rate, it all began with the Have-A Heart live trap that the goatmother placed in the barn to catch the rat. You may remember that it is the one with the extra looooooong rope on it? The goatmother did, indeed, catch the rat, and replaced the trap just in case any long-lost relatives decided to come for a visit and, finding no one home, thought to move in. So the trap was replaced with one door down and one up and, per instructions, a piece of wood placed under one side of the toggle and the bait on the other. Lo and behold, the 'bait' (sad use for a Sacred Peanut if you ask me) was gone and the door was still up. Now how could this be? A mystery to be sure.

This happened a couple of times (the goatmother is a slow learner). Finally she decided that whomsoever was stealing the 'bait' was somehow bypassing the toggle and carrying out the Peanut. It was decided an animal cracker would provide a more formidable enticement while remaining somewhat bulkier to carry away. So said animal cracker was placed atop the toggle and both doors were left up. For sure the dastardly culprit would have to step on the toggle in order to get the cookie. But the next morning, the cookie was gone, both doors were down and locked, yet no one resided within. Now how could this be possible? Obviously it was the work of an extraordinarily gifted stealth burglar. You know the kind that dresses all in black and slides down a hi-tech rope afixed by tossing a grappling hook over the edge?

But then the unthinkable happened. The goatmother walked out into the barn to find two very small winter wrens bouncing about. They were literally everywhere. The floor. The hay. The rafters. The goatmother thought that since birds are such light-weights, perhaps it was they who were managing to get into the trap without setting it off. Personally, I like my theory better. I just don't think a dumb bird is fast enough to get out before those doors snap shut. However, not being inclined to listen to me, the goatmother simply dropped both doors deciding she did not want to catch two such nice birds. After all, apparently they were just hungry and it is Christmas time.

Now then, here is a picture of the Have-A-Heart trap. An Elmer's Glue stick has been placed next to it in order to give perspective. You can see there is a cookie on the toggle inside and both doors are down and locked. This is exactly the condition in which the goatmother left it. Yet the next morning, the cookie was gone.

I'm am uncertain as to whether we can reliably solve this mystery, my dear Watson. After all, there is a shocking lack of evidence. However, I find it prudent to inform you that, no, I simply can not, in all good conscience, support your theory that the perpetrator is Tiny Tim.

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise...

The goatmother and I have one thing in common. Both of us feel that it is just plain unnatural to get up before the sun does. As far as I'm concerned, there is just nothing at all to be said for getting up at the crap of dawn. Yes, That is what I said. So imagine my surprise this morning when we were awakened earlier than usual. Why, you ask? Well, it was just too darned light outside. Something had to be wrong, and oh, indeed it was. We looked out to see what you see below:

Oy. Where did this come from??? Well, I can tell you that some of us were just astounded:

And some of us were dismayed and not about to set one foot outside:

And some of us were just plain overjoyed:

It has been said, " Nonsense is a kind of exuberant capering round a discovered truth." - G. K. Chesterton
I must say I quite agree. Oy.

You Better Watch Out ...

The goatmother was on a kick this last weekend. She decided she should oil every last hinge, clasp, hook, chain and any other variety of metal moving part around the barnyard. Naturally when the goatmother does anything it creates a lot of curiosity. In addition, it seems to foster an attitude of 'good will toward men' and a desire to be of assistance. What can I say? 'Tis the season...

Anyway, this particular venture was not without mishap. 'What?!', you say. How could anything the goatmother does cause a mishap? Obviously you do not know the goatmother very well, but at any rate, one of the hinges she decided to oil was the one belonging to the metal gate going into the inner sanctum where the hay is stored. And the Peanuts. The Peanuts are stored in there. Did I mention in there is where THE PEANUTS are stored?

So come feeding time it was business as usual. Water buckets were cleaned and refilled and hay was brought in. Sadly, however, when you oil a hinge, well, it works really well after that. In fact, it may even work a little better than you might have hoped.

And you might get by without any problems if said smooth-working hinge doesn't happen to stay latched like it used to. You might, but then if there happens to be a certain overly-pushy, bratty Alpine in the vicinity, you might not. So when the goatmother went through carrying an armload of hay, Ella pushed and was welcomed into the inner sanctum.

That picture up there is the consummate face of innocence. But we all know better, don't we? The goatmother dropped everything and ran yelling after the impudent jackanape. Ella ran straight toward the Have-A-Heart live trap the goatmother had set in the barn with a very looooooong rope attached in case she happened to ensnare that particularly smelly visitor (in case you don't remember, you can refresh your memory about this 'visitor' here. ) Naturally, when the goatmother yelled, 'No, Ella! Not the trap!", Ella thought, "Not the trap? Oh, Yes! The TRAP!", and promptly ran into it. Oy.

Well, sometimes when you set a trap you catch things you don't expect. All I have to say is it sure isn't the time of year to be getting caught doing something bad. On the other hand, it sure couldn't happen to a *nicer* goat ... snicker. So, as the song says, Ella, ' You better watch out!' 'cuz "Once you begin being naughty, it is easier to go on and on, and sooner or later something dreadful happens." - Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Then ALL the Peanuts are mine!

Quinnahl and the Night Visitor

When you are a herding dog, well, that's what you tend to do...herd. So it came as no surprise to the goatmother when she flipped on the outside light to let the Mighty Quinn out last night and he took off into the darkness chasing something. But this was no ordinary something. This something was very large with even larger wings. Of course Cabra had to dash out right behind him. It wasn't much of a problem except that the huge winged thing was taken by complete surprise and almost didn't make it off the ground. Well, it did manage to fly off...or so we thought.

In truth it just flew up into the birch tree. However it was dark and the great bird blended in so well that the goatmother almost didn't see him up there. Woe be unto small dogs who do not remain vigilant. As it was, though, the goatfather brought out the flashlight and they proceeded to shine a light on it. Whatever the reason, I guess it didn't think it could carry the Cabrarator off. I mean she has gained some weight lately what with it being the holidays and all. Happens to the best of us. Just ask Boo.

Anyway, the owl was one of the two specimens you see below. We can't be sure which because, naturally, it was dark. So it goes without saying that the goatmother did not take either of these two pictures. Anyway, the first specimen is the rare Spotted Owl. This is a possibility since the road behind us is named Spotted Owl. As point of fact, the only way to really tell the difference between the Spotted Owl and the owl pictured after it, the Barred Owl, is that the 'stripes' on the chest of the Spotted Owl go across while the 'stripes' on the chest of the Barred Owl go up and down. Well, no one really got that close. And besides, it was DARK.

Now both of these owls are very large. The Spotted Owl is somewhere between 18 - 19 inches and has a wingspan of somewhere between 42 to 43 inches. The Barred Owl is normally around 17 inches and has a wingspan of 45 inches! Quinn can tell you it could have been either one. But all he cared about was chasing it and apparently he didn't stop to look at which way the stripes on the chest went either. Well, maybe he did, but he sure isn't telling. We are, however, extremely thankful he didn't catch the visitor since he most likely would have come out on the short end of that candy cane.

The Spotted Owl.

The Barred Owl.

In the end, the owl flew off and the Mighty Quinn chased him all the way to the road. I'm sure he thinks he did a great thing, but the reality is that the owl probably just got bored with those stupid people shining lights and trying to take pictures of him in the DARK. Oy.

Amahl: "What is that?
Kaspar: Eh?
Amahl: What is that?
Kaspar: A parrot.
Amahl: Does it talk?
Kaspar: Eh?
Amahl: Does it talk?
Kaspar: How do I know?
Amahl: Does it bite? " - From Amahl and The Night Visitor.

Thankful...

No. This picture was not taken at night. And, yes, this is what many of the days have looked like lately. So, being Thanksgiving and all, as I stand here contentedly munching my hay, it occurs to me that I am thankful.

1) I am thankful that it only rained a quarter of an inch last night instead of and inch and a quarter.

2) I am thankful the pond stayed where it was instead of bypassing the drain and frolicking down the hill to the neighbor's house all by itself. It shouldn't be out alone.

3) I am glad the goatmother's basement didn't flood again. It is unsightly having the hose running down into our pasture, not to mention it makes things even soggier.

4) I am thankful the wind hasn't gone beyond 49 miles per hour even though we reaped the benefits in downed Madroña limbs and leaves. Yum. Okay. I'm thankful for those.

5) I am thankful that sometimes Ella sleeps and I actually have a chance to get at the food once in awhile. Plus I am glad (occasionally) for Boo's size since it gives me something to get behind during Ellaesque onslaughts.

6) I am glad I 'm the middle goat and thus have someone smaller than me to butt.

7) I am glad I am fast. Really. I can snatch things up before the others even begin to think about it.

8) And the top reason I am thankful? PEANUTS! (Kinda' goes without saying doesn't it?)

One Man's Trash...

They say, 'One man's trash is another man's treasure'. It would seem that the Cabrarator has taken that quite literally. What is that she is holding so lovingly, you ask? Why it is a toilet paper roll. "Whatever we treasure for ourselves separates us from others; our possessions are our limitations." - Rabindranath Tagore. Okay. Now I'm just worried.

The Blue Hole Gets The Blues

Even a Blue Hole has its days. I mean look at that. I guess the Blue Hole was asleep yesterday because it rained a lot. Hard. And the wind blew. Hard. Thank goodness the goatmother had the sense to get the neighbor to dump a big load of wood shavings into our lot about a month ago. Otherwise we would all be wading in knee-deep mud about now. Well, I can tell you I don't like rain and I SURE don't like mud. Besides I just hate a soggy Peanut, don't you?

Anyway, we had an inch and a third of rain yesterday. I know there are places over on the Hood Canal that probably got a lot more than that, but Sheesh! That is a lot for us in one day. And the wind hit 40 miles an hour. I guess we ought to count ourselves lucky since Crystal Mountain over in the Cascades saw 115. I bet if I held my ears just right in that kind of wind I could reach the neighbor's alfalfa field for sure. That's me. Always looking for that silver lining.

It would seem that living in the Blue Hole does not, however, exclude one from wind. Looking back at the data from the goatfather's weather station (Yes, the goatfather has a weather station - the geek. It can be viewed here.), we were, in fact, blessed with a 37 mph wind on the 15th, a 38 mph wind on the 13th, and a 49 mph wind back on the 5th of this month. For some reason these seem to occur often when no one else has wind to speak of ( except the goatfather, and we just don't even want to go there.). The neighbor says it is because we live in what the old timers called 'Hurricane Holler'. Apparently part of our pasture is an old logging road. I, myself, wonder how the neighbors know about these 'old timers', and do we need to watch out because they live in the woods or something? It all sounds a little ominous to me.

So there you have it. Into every life a little rain must fall even if you live in a Blue Hole. And just in case you're interested, more official information on our lack of Blue-Holedness yesterday, is available here.) Apparently we were just loaning it out for a day. So, in the immortal words of my friend, Millie, over on the Key Peninsula, Glub, Glub, Glub... Let a smile be your umbrella, and keep your Peanuts dry.

** Please note, if you go to the link for the goatfather's weather station, it will not show proper information from 9:00 pm (21:00) yesterday evening until 7:00 (07:00) this morning due to the power being off. What can I say? These things happen.

Out For The Season?

The consummate athlete must live with the ever-present knowledge that at any time he could blow his ACL. No, that doesn't mean he faces getting thrown out of a Union for not paying his dues. It means he could tear one of the Cruciate ligaments in his knee, more often the anterior. In fact, a torn ACL has been called the most devastating injury in football and could mean the end of a career. At best it usually means a player is out for the season.

So, two weeks ago, when the Mighty Quinn began limping on his left hind leg, spending the entire weekend as a three-legged dog, we were all just a little worried. Even me, and everyone knows I'm not much of a dog fan. But, being the gifted Frisbee snatcher that he is, not to mention an avid disciple of the Dervish School of Herding, things were looking rather dim. Like Nate Burleson, Seahawks wide receiver, the Mighty Quinn could well be sitting on the side lines for the duration.

Come Monday morning, Quinn was whisked off to the vet. Upon examination, it was determined that it was very likely an ACL injury had been incurred. Oy. Not only would this mean surgery, but it would require 8 to 12 weeks of inactivity for a decidedly VERY active dog. I could see a definite shortage of Peanut hand outs in my future from sheer lack of time with the goatmother.

Anyway, nothing could be done for two weeks. So for two weeks, the goatmother and the goatfather have been inventing ways to keep the Mighty Quinn from dashing about, jumping, climbing, playing, or any of the myriad other active things he loves to do. But today was the day. Early this morning the Mighty Quinn was returned to the vet ready (or maybe not so much ) to face the dire consequences of his actions.

The goatmother and the goatfather went home and waited. At 9:30 the call came. And guess what? The knee was proclaimed *solid* and NO SURGERY need be done! The Mighty Quinn would not be out for the season after all! Everyone breathed a great sigh of relief, extra Peanuts were passed out in celebration, and a vow was made to keep those Frisbees and balls a little closer to the ground from now on. "I pass with relief from the tossing sea of cause and theory to the firm ground of result and fact." - Winston Churchill.

The Blue Hole

What is this, you ask? This, my good friends, is a stunning example of The Blue Hole. You stupid goat, you say. That is an old Elvis Presley movie, isn't it? And, you would be indubitably WRONG. No, The Blue Hole is actually a phenomenon peculiar to where I live. Not that I am peculiar, mind you, but the weather sure is.

You see up there on that map where the little red circle is? That's us. No, really. It is. Trust me. You will notice that all around there is a huge band of green and, in spots, yellow and orange? That would be the horrendous rainfall occurring in western Washington. Right now there is a flood watch issued because so much rain is falling, and much more is expected. And the wind is supposed to blow. But you know what? Right. Here, no rain and not even a breeze. Strange. But you see, we are contained in that large dark blue circle in the middle up on that map. For that, mi amigos, is the infamous Blue Hole.

Why on earth does that happen? Interestingly enough, if you look somewhat down and to the left, you can see the snowy tops of the Olympic Mountains. Notice there is no bright green there either? That is because the storms blow in off the Pacific, hit the Olympic Mountains and just bounce around and over. Nice, huh? It is really nice when one considers that the average rainfall within the Olympic Rain Shadow (that's us) is somewhere around 16 or 17 inches a year, compared to 25 inches just 15 miles to the East in Port Angeles, and a whopping 121 inches over in Forks where that Shrimpy UnDead-American recently visited. That's right. One-hundred and twenty-one soggy, drippy droplets a year. Oy. I bet those goaties have floaties to keep their Peanuts dry.

Anyway, nope, no flooding for us. Besides, we live on a hill. A perfect environment for a goat, if you ask me. So, with that, I'll leave you with an Old Irish Blessing: " May you always have walls for the winds, a roof for the rain, tea [or Peanuts] beside the fire [which hopefully is not too close to the hay], laughter to cheer you, those you love near [but not near enough to butt you or get to the Peanuts first], and all your heart might desire." - O'Marigold, over and out!

The Good - (or not so) - Die Young

Well...now that Halloween is over I thought we might have a little peace and quiet before all the holiday hub-bub begins. It would seem, however, that as long as that Lifeless Green Lilliputian (you remember him?) insists on staying around, some things just won't die. Or come to think of it, maybe they will.

Witness what you see below. Apparently *someone* (we wouldn't want to point any fingers...or hooves...or stakes...) has been teaching the Cabrarator to play dead when *shot*. I suppose had I responded more kindly to his calling me MariBella, The Diminutive Deceased-One would not have felt the need to move on to another so obviously impressionable member of the household. But there you have it. It is what it is. You might also note the Little Departed Dummy managed to enlist the services of that stupid disembodied hand he brought home with him from Forks. Oy, a magnum he ain't.



Anyway, when all is said and done, you just can't keep a good man (or dog) down, and you will notice that Cabra refuses to actually stay dead. After all, what's in it for her? She's obviously Team Jacob anyway.

As for that Dinky Done-For, I suppose he's pretty good as a dog trainer. He certainly had no skill as a goat trainer. Still, I have one thing to say on the matter: "I like a man who's good, but not too good - for the good die young, and I hate a dead one." - Mae West.

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween all y'all. I recently learned that is the plural of y'all, so I thought I'd give it a try. What do you think? Kinda' spooky, huh? Well, anyway, here's hoping you have a BOOtiful day and an even more PHANTOMtastic night! Oh, by the way... watch out for the mini-mes. (Oy and udder... I mean shudder...)

Trick Or Treat?

They say be careful what you wish for. So, when the goatmother started this whole needle felting thing, and I offhandedly remarked that I was holding out for a fuzzy rendition of myself...well...I really didn't believe I had anything to worry about. After all I never got that crocheted coat. But, of course, as things go, and when Murphy is thrown into the mix, not to mention the absolute spookiest time of the year, well, really scary things can happen.

Meet the dread MiniMe, ace, all-around clone and number one tiny Peanut pirate.

Eeeeeeek! And Oy. There simply has to be some mistake. This is absolutely not what I had in mind.

The left ...

The right...

Even the bum! Scaaarry, I tell you.


So, my friends, be very careful what you wish for this Halloween ...
... because you just might get it! Or worse, something entirely beyond the imagination.

"You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension - a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into" ... the Oylight Zone.

BOO!

The Witch

She's at it again. This is madness, MADness, MADNESS, I say... A monster has been unleashed. Oy.

Shut up, Marigold. Leave me alone. Go eat some Peanuts why don't you?

Now Here's Something Really Spooky...

Oy. She's at it again. The goatmother has taken another class. This time she learned to do needle felting and she made what you see below.

I know. Disgusting, isn't it? I mean you would think she could have at least done a goat. But, NO. She had to do a spotty horse. Oy.

And you can see from the ridiculous smirk on its face that it has absolutely no brain. I think it is a Nubian horse. That's what I think. Anyway, at least it won't eat too many Peanuts.

Still, I guess it has some merit. It is kind of cute in a Bohemian sort of way. But, you know, now the goatmother has some totally absurd idea that she can figure out how to make something out of that big bag of cashmere she's been collecting from us for two years. Oy. A goat can't even grow a winter coat in peace anymore. I say if she wants to use the hair she needs to be coughing up something extra...like say some three-to-a-shell Peanuts for example.

At any rate, I thought I'd post something really artistic just so the goatmother doesn't get to thinking she's all that and a bag of Peanuts - a Pacific Northwest sunset. Now that's art. Still, on the felt front, I'm holding out for a fuzzy rendition of me. I'll just be practicing my posing. Perhaps she'll do me on my stump. Hey, it could happen...


P.S. Hey, Jane. See the Corian???

A *Star* Is Born

There are two kinds of people in this world - those who know and consequently understand, and those who haven't got a clue. I suspect the goatmother belongs in category two. Why is this, you ask?

Well, you see, the other day was hoof trimming day. Of course you realize this is my least favorite day. In fact, I might go so far as to say it is the most hated day for all us. Naturally I can not include Ella in this since the brown-noser always has to impress the goatmother. Nor, I guess, can I honestly include Watson or Peanut since they could really care less what anyone does as long as there is food involved. Okay, well, I guess I have to admit that leaves only Boo and myself. Hey, what can I say? You gotta' leave the best for last, right?

At any rate, what with the influence of Halloween coming and the Little UnDead guy, I figured this month I'd surprise the goatmother. What?! You think I decided to act with some amount of decorum? Not on your ever-lovin' life! No, this time, I decided to sport a little flair...a little panache. Yes, indeed, I decided to go goth.

So when the goatmother picked up my foot, nippers in hand, and found what you see below, I can only say I was mortified to find just how much of a Nubian that woman is.

Okay, well, I wasn't going for the whole nose-ring thing. I'll leave that to those dumb cows. And let's face it, a tongue stud would only interfere with the consumption of my beloved Peanuts. But a stud in the hoof? Now that was the way to go. A piercing like no other. Something to make me stand out from the crowd.

But when the goatmother picked up my hoof and realized there was a star staring back at her, all she could say was, "Marigold! Where did you get this??? I just can't figure this out. Where could this have come from? I've never even seen a tack in the shape of a star, let alone left one around for you to step on!"

Sheesh, woman! Have you NEVER heard of QVC?????????????
Oy.

He's Baa-aack...

Well, after the unfortunate side trip to the Forks hospital, our Little Bereft-Of-Life did indeed go on to finish his tour. Naturally he had to make a stop at the Forks High School because this, of course, is where Edward and Bella went to school. Can you see him down below the sign?

Perhaps you can see him a little better in this artful shot. Oy.

At any rate, the last stop was to see Bella's truck parked at the Forks Chamber of Commerce. As you can see, the Cadaverous-And-Uncouth had to stand back for the picture until someone was kind enough to remove the fragrant garland so nicely adorning the grill.

But then, the Little Liquidated-And-Ludicrous-One's heart of hearts desire was fulfilled when he was, at last, able to pose with the truck. See him there by the license plate?

All too quickly, however, the fun was over and the Little Stiff-And-Stupefied was on his way back home. Fortunately, there were signs to point him in the right direction.

Really glad to have you back Little Cold-And-Clueless. That was quite an adventure for such an abbreviated little fellow.

But, uhm, I think you stood way too close to that garlic. And STOP calling me MariBella already! Oy.

The Little UnDead Does Twilight (Part 2)

No doubt you've all been waiting with bated breath for an update on The Little UnDead's sojourn to Forks. So get comfortable, pull up a chair and grab some Peanuts because here is Part 2.

After spending his first night hanging (literally) in a tree, The Little Undead started out for the Swan house. This, of course, is where Bella Swan lived with Charlie, her father and Police Chief of Forks, in 'Twilight'. You will, perhaps, notice that stupid disembodied arm is still around. Oy. I am given to understand his name is Stanley. One just never knows who one might stumble across on the road to Perdition...

Anyway, then it was on to the Cullen house! You know The Little Life-Challenged had a really hard time containing himself here. Team Edward and all that. So here you see him in front of the house with 'Stanley'. You don't see him???

Well, he is kind of short. Is this better??? Yep. There his is...hiding in the bushes like a real vampire.

So with the Cullen house behind him, the Little Dead-and-Dazed stopped by the Forks City Hall. This, of course, is where Charlie Swan was employed. If you look closely, you will see our Little Embicilic-and-Expired atop the sign. Still having trouble???

What about now??? Is this better??? Now, as you can see (I hope), this was quite a height for someone as altitudinally-challenged as our Little Half-Baked One. Which is how he ended up at his last point of interest for the day.

You see our Little Lifeless Lackluster fell off the Forks City Hall sign, leading him here...
I'd think one could expect a little more from someone who can fly, wouldn't you? Oy, boy.

Oh, well. There is an old Chinese proverb that says, "Only he that has traveled the road knows where the holes are deep." I think that about covers it.

The Little Undead Does 'Twilight' (Part 1)

Well, we heard from The Little UnDead. After departing our humble farm, he flew into Forks...literally. Sadly, just after taking the picture below, The Little Ignoramus had a narrow escape with the logging truck you see coming. He didn't... see it that is. Oy. Never, never snap and drive, Little UnDead Dude. Dangerous practice that.

Anyway, if that weren't bad enough, The Little Obtuse One didn't even manage to get a picture of the 'Welcome To Forks' sign. Why, you ask? Well, let's just say when you fly with your eyes closed you tend to miss a few things - like very large signs looming in your path. So, it would seem the camera he was carrying 'bit the dust' in the encounter. Get it? Dead guy? Bit the dust? ...ahem... Okay, well, all I have to say is thank goodness for those wonderful disposable jobs. If you ask me, whoever invented those definitely knew someone like The Little UnMindful.

So back to the story. After the mishap with the 'Welcome To Forks' sign, our cute Little Philistine headed for some place to buy a new camera. What better place than the Forks Outfitters ( reported place of employment of Bella Swan, non-dead heroine). I have to tell you he was pretty darned excited. I can't say to whom the incorporeal arm belongs, but no doubt it was to some other 'Team Edward' zealot. Plus, The Little UnWitting probably needed the support to contain his fervor. At any rate, I doubt the arm remembers the event even if the whole mesmerizing thing didn't work - or at least no one would admit to it if they did. Would you?

Now then, by the time a new camera was obtained, and all was said and done, the day was pretty much spent. So, our rascally Little Moron decided to look for a place to spend the night. Naturally when he saw the sign below he was dead (Ha! 'dead'...I slay me...) set against staying there. No doubt it was run by some 'Team Jacob' devotee anyway.

In the end, The Undead wound up hanging out in a tree for the night. Again, quite literally. No one seemed to mind - or even notice for that matter. Thus the first day of the Twilight Trek came to a close. I suppose we should hope that the next installment is a little less fraught with catastrophe, and we must most certainly hope that The Little UnIntellectual comes back to us in one green piece. After all," "Remember what Bilbo used to say: "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to." " - J. R. R. Tolkien.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

Ah, yes. It is finally October - my favorite time of the year. You might remember that last year, about this time, I began a series of posts about 'spooky' things. Well, I see absolutely no reason to change tradition. This year, however , I would like to present something a bit divergent from the past. For this year, I would like to introduce you to my friend (who is about as divergent as they come). You see, folks, this is someone who has been with us for quite awhile. In fact, he has been living (or maybe not so much) with the goatmother for a number of years prior even to the appearance of we goats. Below is a picture of my friend.

Allow me to introduce to you, The Little Undead. You are, perhaps, wondering why he is pictured here amongst the Stinging Nettles. It is quite a long story, but suffice it to say that his personality is such that people (even goats) often become perturbed with his behavior, at which point he is promptly tossed (or butted) into the Nettles. It seems to help him gain a certain grasp on reality.

Anyway, some of you may realize that our farm is quite close to the town of Forks, featured in the book 'Twilight'. And, knowing that, you would, of course, also know that 'Twilight' is the story of a girl (Bella Swan) who falls hopelessly in love with a vampire (Edward Cullen). Not really my idea of true love (that would have to involve Peanuts), but you must understand that The Little Undead is more than a little taken with the book. As a matter of fact, the word 'obsessed' comes to mind...or would it be 'possessed'?

At any rate, my friend has decided to take a trip (Well, maybe 'pilgrimage' is a better word.) to none other than Forks.

"That's a really long way for such a short guy, Little Undead."

"I don't care. I can make it. I can mesmerize people into giving me rides if I get tired of the whole 'bat' thing."

"All-rightey then. Ahem."

"Okay, young green one. Go forth, then, to Forks. Seek the Holy Grail of Vampiredom. What is the Holy Grail of Vampiredom anyway??? Go forth, promoting 'Team Edward' unto all who deign to harken unto your words."

So I straightened his bow tie...

... gave him a kiss for luck, and sent him up the road. So stay tuned, my friends, for in the days to come we shall come to know just what The Little Undead encountered on his journey to the mecca.

The Summer That Wouldn't Die

So here's the thing. This Tuesday it will be Fall, but it doesn't feel like Fall. Oh, no. We are so dry that we goats are 'spittin' cotton'. No, really. The grass is dying and the trees are turning brown. We had a smidgen of rain last night, but it wasn't enough. The goatmother is getting tired of slogging hoses around trying to keep everything from dying. This makes her crabby. Crabby means this: 'If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.' Oy.

I mean last year we had snow on the mountains by the end of September. Now,there isn't even any rain in the forecast through the end of the month! Oy, I say. Just plain Oy.

So I'm gonna' sit on my stump and meditate about this. Surely a little meditation will convince the Universe we need some rain to welcome autumn. After all, "There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!" - Percy Bysshe Shelley

'Word', Percy.

A Most Disturbing Day

I guess one should always be prepared because you just never know. Take for example this morning. This morning the goatmother came out and did all her goatly chores - like passing out Peanuts. Things were all quite normal. The goatmother, the Mighty Quinn and Cabra went back into the house. The goatmother had just gotten out of the shower when Cabra began to go crazy, running hither and yon barking wildly. Okay, well, Cabra does lean toward being the alarmist, so the goatmother glanced out the window and saw some yellow pass by. That was her first mistake since she didn't have her glasses on at the time. The goatmother just shrugged and thought, 'Oh, it's just the neighbor kid.'

Now the neighbor kid is a Golden Retriever who regularly comes up for his daily 'poop and pat' - so named because that is what he does. He finds someplace to poop and then he wanders about and comes to the goatmother to get a pat on the head. I don't really understand how that works since the goatmother never pats me for pooping, but maybe it has something to do with being a dog. I can't be sure.

Anyway, back to my story... The goatmother ignored Cabra, telling her it was just the neighbor kid, and that was her second mistake. She should have paid more attention. Just then the phone rang and it was the neighbor - the very one with whom the neighbor kid lives. It seems there had been an extremely large yellow dog, with no collar, barking at their house. The neighbor went out and the dog would not come to her. Instead he growled. So the neighbor was warning the goatmother and the goatfather to be on the lookout, and not to let the Mighty Quinn or Cabra out unsupervised. 'Hmmm,' thought the goatmother. 'I guess I should have put my glasses on.' Yes, goatmother. You should have. And what's with that neighbor, anyway? What about the goats? Doesn't anyone care about the GOATS?

Now the other disturbing thing about today was that no weather station anywhere said it was going to rain. So, guess what? It rained. You see we were all standing out in the pasture by the tire. This is our most favorite place to stand and the goatmother calls it the 'Buffalo Wallow'. That makes absolutely no sense because none of us looks anything like a Buffalo, but then I suppose one could feasibly mistake Boo for a Buffalo - if they didn't have their glasses on. Oy.

Anyway, there we all were, just minding our own business, when suddenly said huge yellow dog appeared out of nowhere near the barn. Ella snorted. ( I know. It isn't very lady-like, not to mention undignified, but there you have it. It gets the job done.) Everyone came to immediate attention, including the goatmother who had, by that time, arrived at the back door. The goatfather came out and managed to scare the dog away - somewhat, but by then we were all so concerned we were too afraid to go to the barn. Which is why it was so disturbing that it was raining when it wasn't supposed to be raining. That meant we were all standing in the pouring rain. Anyone that knows anything, knows that goats DO NOT like rain. As a matter of fact, we will go to great lengths to avoid getting wet, and will do almost anything to that end. Anything, that is, except move when a suspected predator attack is in the offing. Oh, no. Not a hair moves in that case. Not even two hairs.

But back to the dog... The goatmother redeemed herself in the end. She donned her raincoat and, staff in hand, came out and escorted us all to the barn. Whew! Plus we got more hay in the bargain. Mind you I could not bring myself to concentrate fully on consuming it seeing as how it was necessary to keep running back and forth checking to see if the menace had returned. Oh, well. That kind of thing helps to maintain my svelte figure (despite recent rumors that I follow the philosophy of SUMO. Harummpf.).

In retrospect, I feel quite sure we could have handled our situation more competently had we had enough time to consider it fully first. After all, it has been said, "The world is full of abundance and opportunity, but far too many people come to the fountain of life with a sieve instead of a tank car...a teaspoon instead of a steam shovel. They expect little and as a result they get little." - Ben Sweetland. With that in mind, let it be hereby noted that I expect quite a lot and should the situation of the big yellow dog arise again, we are coming to the fountain with that tank car. Yes, indeed. Should it happen again we are shoving Boo to the FRONT!