Goat Years

You've probably all been wondering. You've probably been sitting there at the table having breakfast and suddenly said to yourself, 'What the hay has happened to Marigold?' Well, it's like this. I've been standing around waiting for the rain to end. However, the rain hasn't seen fit to give a flip. As a matter of fact, the pond has stayed so full this winter, the goatmother's plants, which used to be way up on the bank, are now officially part of the pond. Since the ducks consider the pond to be theirs, open season has been declared on goatmother plants. The goatmother has naturally found it necessary to have a word or two with the ducks, and the ducks, naturally, haven't bothered to listen. As a result, the goatmother's plants are now surrounded by anchored wire. Oh, well. You know what they say: 'Good fences make good neighbors.'

Anyway, with all this standing about, I've had a lot of time to think and I've come to a realization. I'm old. No, really. I am. I'm 6 years old. God Love A Cow! That's 42 in dog years! I can practically hear my joints creaking every time I get up on my stump. Why before long, I may not even be able to get up on my stump. Now that's depressing.

Come to think of it, why is nothing ever expressed in goat years? I mean we have all these sayings being bandied about like ,'You're how old? Holy Goat Berries! That's like dead in dog years.'; or how about that one where they say something like, 'Hello, Joe. Why, I haven't seen you in a coon's age!'; or, 'Yeah, old Edna's been around for donkey's years.' I mean, like how long is 'donkey's years'? I don't know, but their ears are pretty long.

At any rate, I hope it stops raining before I get too gray and my teeth fall out. I just hate soggy Peanuts. Still, I suppose there is always an up side to things. At least that way they're easier to gum.

"How old would you be, if you didn't know how old you was?" - Satchel Paige.

Peanut butter, anyone?