The Goatmother went to a hairdresser. Actually, she went to a brand new hairdresser because while she was away her old hairdresser retired. The nerve of some people. Anyway, the Goatmother doesn't look like Letterman any more. Her mood has improved greatly, for which I am exceedingly grateful, and she actually went out of the house yesterday without a head covering for the very first time in 8 months. February 7th is an auspicious day, I say. Her hair is still short, mind you, and her head still gets cold, but, hey, the possibility is there. And real. And she doesn't look like Letterman. Now she looks a little more like Ann Hathaway. Life is good.
" And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair ." - Khalil Gibran
Okay, well, the wind may have to wait just a bit longer.
Life goes on amidst change. Finding the laughter one day at a time...
Friday, February 8, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
A Hairy Update
When the Goatmother first lost her hair, she didn't go completely bald. Everything fell out except a few strands of gray and she looked like the Crypt Keeper. Then later, when it finally started to grow back, she looked like Frank Sinatra as an old man. Well, since we published the New Year's Resolution picture, it has grown. Some. And it has become unruly. Just like us goats. Un-Rul-EE. (I am not sure why she says this at all. I would say it is more like joie de vivre.)
Anyway, it curls. It is not a nice curl. It is Un-Rul-EE. And it doesn't curl everywhere. Take for instance the back of her head. It is flat. No curl. Just flat. So today, the Goatmother decided she might actually try to blow dry her hair using a small rounded brush in an attempt to tame the Un-Rul-EE-ness of her tresses. Or at least what passes as tresses these days. And guess what? She doesn't look like Frank Sinatra as an old man anymore. Nope. Now she looks exactly like Letterman. And no. She says she is most assuredly NOT posting a picture. Oy.
“If what you've done is stupid, but it works..then it really isn't all that stupid.” - David Letterman
Or is it???
Anyway, it curls. It is not a nice curl. It is Un-Rul-EE. And it doesn't curl everywhere. Take for instance the back of her head. It is flat. No curl. Just flat. So today, the Goatmother decided she might actually try to blow dry her hair using a small rounded brush in an attempt to tame the Un-Rul-EE-ness of her tresses. Or at least what passes as tresses these days. And guess what? She doesn't look like Frank Sinatra as an old man anymore. Nope. Now she looks exactly like Letterman. And no. She says she is most assuredly NOT posting a picture. Oy.
“If what you've done is stupid, but it works..then it really isn't all that stupid.” - David Letterman
Or is it???
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Demands
Demands are sometimes worth their while. We are watching the SuperBowl. THIS barn is now demanding Doritos. No one can say there isn't power in advertising. I'm just sayin' ...
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Woefully Behind And A Really BIG Mistake.
Well, goat grief. Here I am. Finally. Oy is me. I am so far behind I don't know whether I have found a new Peanut or forgotten to eat an old one. No matter. Still tastes just as good either way. Well, unless you count those that have Alpine spit. Anyway, I have no excuse. It is, in fact, all the Goatmother's fault. She's been gone so much I haven't been able to get into the house and no one has bothered to give me a key. And, of COURSE, no one will give me my own computer in the barn. Come to think of it, Ella would probably eat it anyway, so maybe it's a good thing. Who can tell?
Nonetheless, I am behind. That is not, by the way, to be taken as a commentary on my looks. Can I help it if my metabolism is a bit on the slow side? Though I suppose I could go to Weight Watchers with the Goatmother. I mean she's managed to lose five more pounds. Woo and Hoo. They probably wouldn't consider letting a goat in anyway.
Now then. Since I obviously have access to the computer, I shall regale you with a tale of woe. Although, from my perspective I don't really see it as all that woesome since one of my least favorite Alpines (did I say that?) got into trouble over it. To be sure it certainly wasn't something I'd ever consider doing though.
So here's what happened. The Goatmother came out to the barn. She cleaned up the boys' side and gave them some Peanuts before letting us out because, let's face it, that's practically the only way either of them is going to even get near a Peanut. Watson, the brown-noser, went about his usual 'follow-the-Goatmother-around-look-cute-and-stick-your-nose-in-her-pocket routine, and Peanut stood on the trimming stand stealthily awaiting the off chance that Watson would walk by so he could butt him.
The Goatmother finished up with the boys and then opened the gate to our side. Being the most attentive and on the ball of the group, I was first to dash out. Besides there are two gates and I'm the only one of the girls short enough to fit under the top. So when the Goatmother walked in, Ella was standing on the wooden spool. Now Ella isn't normally standing on the wooden spool in the morning, but this particular morning I think her nose may have been more out of joint than usual, which wouldnt' have had anything to do with me. At least if it did, I'm not admitting it.
So the Goatmother went about her business of tidying up the premises, making sure the mineral feeder had minerals in it, getting new water, and generally just performing all the morning maid duties. No chocolate on the pillows though, but I digress. The last thing on the list is to hand out Peanuts to us. The girls. The most deserving. Well, at least some of us are deserving. And the line up goes like this. Ella marches in and butts Peanut off the stand so she can take it over, thus placing herself higher than anyone else and more likely (she thinks) to get the most Peanuts. Boo stands to the outside lifting her head in anticipation. She only lifts her head because everything else on Boo is pretty much stationary. And me, I say 'the hay' with all that pussyfooting around and jostling for position, and go straight for the middle with my feet on the gate that goes into the holiest of holies, the inner sanctum of the barn, from whence the Goatmother will administer the goods. My mama didn't raise no fool.
Anyway, this morning went much like every morning. The Goatmother offered Ella a Peanut and Ella, because her nose was already out of joint from 'whatever', got an attack of the Picky Snits and spit it out on the floor. She gave one to me, and I can tell you, I took it. Remember that thing about my mama? I'm just sayin'... Then she offered one to Boo who took it after clamping on with only her lips because if you are Nubian you have to determine, first, that anything entering your mouth is, in fact, not a fly or something equally objectionable even though it smells like a Peanut. One never knows. Flies can be tricksy.
When it was all said and done, Ella was told 'you have one more chance', which she, unwisely did not take, and literally spit on that chance. Boo had decided tricksy flies were at work and refused to take anymore. I got ALL the rest of the Peanuts. Perseverance and unscrupulousness wins out over picayunishness and feeble-mindedness every time.
Of course no one with any sense will pick up a Peanut that has spit on it. Not even Watson. So the Goatmother opened the gate, stepped in, and bent down to pick up the remnants of the wasteful Picky Snit. That's when it happened. 'What happened?', you ask. Geeze. Did you get so caught up in the inner workings of the barn you forgot? Remember the really BIG mistake? Yeah. That. The Goatmother bent down and Ella, still on the stand, bent down and went head to head with the Goatmother. Wham. You could have heard a pin drop. The Goatmother raised her head, shook it, and that's when the yelling and finger shaking began. Trust me, the rest of us left. Chuckling under our breath, mind you, but we left. I would not want to have been on the receiving end of that lecture. But I have to admit, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving goat. I suppose perhaps there is some justice in life after all.
So there you have it. I know you were all probably thinking something had happened to the Goatmother since I hadn't been on here in so long. Not to worry. She's one tough broad. Especially her head.
Nonetheless, I am behind. That is not, by the way, to be taken as a commentary on my looks. Can I help it if my metabolism is a bit on the slow side? Though I suppose I could go to Weight Watchers with the Goatmother. I mean she's managed to lose five more pounds. Woo and Hoo. They probably wouldn't consider letting a goat in anyway.
Now then. Since I obviously have access to the computer, I shall regale you with a tale of woe. Although, from my perspective I don't really see it as all that woesome since one of my least favorite Alpines (did I say that?) got into trouble over it. To be sure it certainly wasn't something I'd ever consider doing though.
So here's what happened. The Goatmother came out to the barn. She cleaned up the boys' side and gave them some Peanuts before letting us out because, let's face it, that's practically the only way either of them is going to even get near a Peanut. Watson, the brown-noser, went about his usual 'follow-the-Goatmother-around-look-cute-and-stick-your-nose-in-her-pocket routine, and Peanut stood on the trimming stand stealthily awaiting the off chance that Watson would walk by so he could butt him.
The Goatmother finished up with the boys and then opened the gate to our side. Being the most attentive and on the ball of the group, I was first to dash out. Besides there are two gates and I'm the only one of the girls short enough to fit under the top. So when the Goatmother walked in, Ella was standing on the wooden spool. Now Ella isn't normally standing on the wooden spool in the morning, but this particular morning I think her nose may have been more out of joint than usual, which wouldnt' have had anything to do with me. At least if it did, I'm not admitting it.
So the Goatmother went about her business of tidying up the premises, making sure the mineral feeder had minerals in it, getting new water, and generally just performing all the morning maid duties. No chocolate on the pillows though, but I digress. The last thing on the list is to hand out Peanuts to us. The girls. The most deserving. Well, at least some of us are deserving. And the line up goes like this. Ella marches in and butts Peanut off the stand so she can take it over, thus placing herself higher than anyone else and more likely (she thinks) to get the most Peanuts. Boo stands to the outside lifting her head in anticipation. She only lifts her head because everything else on Boo is pretty much stationary. And me, I say 'the hay' with all that pussyfooting around and jostling for position, and go straight for the middle with my feet on the gate that goes into the holiest of holies, the inner sanctum of the barn, from whence the Goatmother will administer the goods. My mama didn't raise no fool.
Anyway, this morning went much like every morning. The Goatmother offered Ella a Peanut and Ella, because her nose was already out of joint from 'whatever', got an attack of the Picky Snits and spit it out on the floor. She gave one to me, and I can tell you, I took it. Remember that thing about my mama? I'm just sayin'... Then she offered one to Boo who took it after clamping on with only her lips because if you are Nubian you have to determine, first, that anything entering your mouth is, in fact, not a fly or something equally objectionable even though it smells like a Peanut. One never knows. Flies can be tricksy.
When it was all said and done, Ella was told 'you have one more chance', which she, unwisely did not take, and literally spit on that chance. Boo had decided tricksy flies were at work and refused to take anymore. I got ALL the rest of the Peanuts. Perseverance and unscrupulousness wins out over picayunishness and feeble-mindedness every time.
Of course no one with any sense will pick up a Peanut that has spit on it. Not even Watson. So the Goatmother opened the gate, stepped in, and bent down to pick up the remnants of the wasteful Picky Snit. That's when it happened. 'What happened?', you ask. Geeze. Did you get so caught up in the inner workings of the barn you forgot? Remember the really BIG mistake? Yeah. That. The Goatmother bent down and Ella, still on the stand, bent down and went head to head with the Goatmother. Wham. You could have heard a pin drop. The Goatmother raised her head, shook it, and that's when the yelling and finger shaking began. Trust me, the rest of us left. Chuckling under our breath, mind you, but we left. I would not want to have been on the receiving end of that lecture. But I have to admit, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving goat.
So there you have it. I know you were all probably thinking something had happened to the Goatmother since I hadn't been on here in so long. Not to worry. She's one tough broad. Especially her head.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Seven Swans A Swimming
Okay. Maybe there's more than seven. And maybe they aren't swimming. But they are swans. Tundra Swans, to be exact.
Not swimming, but perhaps dancing ...
Conga line, anyone???
Where? Where's the Conga line? Which way to the Conga line???
Monday, December 31, 2012
Sunday, December 30, 2012
The New Year
Well, goatness. Here we are about to turn the page to a new year. I don't know. Really and truly I suppose I can't get all that excited about it. I mean way back when, those Cavemen just lived day to day. Maybe even minute to minute. Like Nubians. When they remembered to. And werent' being chased by Saber Tooth Tigers. And then we had all kinds of other calendars like the Egyptians and the Celts and the Gaulish Coligny. And what about those Mayans?
Anyway, then we had the Julian calendar, created by those hairy-legged Romans. But they didn't get things quite right either. No real surprise there since a lot of their mental efforts were likely spent finding ways to keep vegetation from ensnaring their hairy legs during all that pillaging. But according to Wikipedia, "the Julian calendar assumes that the time between vernal equinoxes is 365.25 days, when in fact it is presently almost 11 minutes shorter. The discrepancy results in a drift of about three days every 400 years." I don't know about you, but seems to me that three days in 400 years equates to a LOT of missed Peanuts. So maybe it was a good thing Pope Gregory XIII decided we ought to get a new calendar. Come to think of it, perhaps there is an omen there. You know...Pope Gregory the 13th and 2013? Hmmm....
So Wikipedia goes on to say this about the Gregorian calendar: "It was introduced by Pope Gregory XIII, after whom the calendar was named, by a decree signed on 24 February 1582; the decree, a papal bull, is known by its opening words, Inter gravissimas." First off, February 24th? Now see there? Even Gregory knew that January 1st wasn't anything but a lot of bull. It says so right there in Wikipedia. Papal bull. The whole idea was probably brought on by the desperate thoughts of an unfortunate and unlucky guy who couldn't even be a 1st and got stuck being a 13th. I'm just sayin' ... Gregory should have had a goat. That would have helped a lot. If for no other reason than he would have been the first pope to have a goat, thereby making him Gregory the Goat 1st and avoiding that whole 13th fiasco.
At any rate, January 1st is just a day like any other. Who knows? Maybe somebody else used to have the beginning of the year on some other day. Like maybe, I dunno'... March 10th? Hay, it's certainly possible and a really auspicious date. That's the day I was born. What date could be more auspicious than that, I ask you?
Whatever. If January 1st marks the beginning of a new year full of health and fun, creativity, and caring toward our fellow creatures, then it's all good in my book. Especially that last part, and especially by Alpines. (Disclaimer: this does not include mini Alpines as their temperaments have been, well, tempered by the presence of Nigerian genes and thus they do not fall into the same category as big Alpines ... like Ella. Okay. They're just not as grumpy or persnickety as Ella).
So Happy New Year. And if you don't want to celebrate it on January 1st, then March 10th is open.
"Another fresh new year is here ...
Another year to live!
To banish worry, doubt, and fear,
To love and laugh and give!
This bright new year is given me
To live each day with zest ...
To daily grow and try to be
My highest and my best!
I have the opportunity
Once more to right some wrongs,
To pray for peace, to plant a tree,
And sing more joyful songs!" - William Arthur Ward
Anyway, then we had the Julian calendar, created by those hairy-legged Romans. But they didn't get things quite right either. No real surprise there since a lot of their mental efforts were likely spent finding ways to keep vegetation from ensnaring their hairy legs during all that pillaging. But according to Wikipedia, "the Julian calendar assumes that the time between vernal equinoxes is 365.25 days, when in fact it is presently almost 11 minutes shorter. The discrepancy results in a drift of about three days every 400 years." I don't know about you, but seems to me that three days in 400 years equates to a LOT of missed Peanuts. So maybe it was a good thing Pope Gregory XIII decided we ought to get a new calendar. Come to think of it, perhaps there is an omen there. You know...Pope Gregory the 13th and 2013? Hmmm....
So Wikipedia goes on to say this about the Gregorian calendar: "It was introduced by Pope Gregory XIII, after whom the calendar was named, by a decree signed on 24 February 1582; the decree, a papal bull, is known by its opening words, Inter gravissimas." First off, February 24th? Now see there? Even Gregory knew that January 1st wasn't anything but a lot of bull. It says so right there in Wikipedia. Papal bull. The whole idea was probably brought on by the desperate thoughts of an unfortunate and unlucky guy who couldn't even be a 1st and got stuck being a 13th. I'm just sayin' ... Gregory should have had a goat. That would have helped a lot. If for no other reason than he would have been the first pope to have a goat, thereby making him Gregory the Goat 1st and avoiding that whole 13th fiasco.
At any rate, January 1st is just a day like any other. Who knows? Maybe somebody else used to have the beginning of the year on some other day. Like maybe, I dunno'... March 10th? Hay, it's certainly possible and a really auspicious date. That's the day I was born. What date could be more auspicious than that, I ask you?
Whatever. If January 1st marks the beginning of a new year full of health and fun, creativity, and caring toward our fellow creatures, then it's all good in my book. Especially that last part, and especially by Alpines. (Disclaimer: this does not include mini Alpines as their temperaments have been, well, tempered by the presence of Nigerian genes and thus they do not fall into the same category as big Alpines ... like Ella. Okay. They're just not as grumpy or persnickety as Ella).
So Happy New Year. And if you don't want to celebrate it on January 1st, then March 10th is open.
"Another fresh new year is here ...
Another year to live!
To banish worry, doubt, and fear,
To love and laugh and give!
This bright new year is given me
To live each day with zest ...
To daily grow and try to be
My highest and my best!
I have the opportunity
Once more to right some wrongs,
To pray for peace, to plant a tree,
And sing more joyful songs!" - William Arthur Ward
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