Thankful

It started out innocently enough. A flake here. A flake there.

Soon there was a little mantle of white. No big deal.

Then it started to do this. (Trust me. I'm inside that barn.)

And pretty soon it looked like this.

When all was said and done, the mushrooms wore hats.

And then the wind came, leaving in its wake a legion of leafy soldiers and NO power.

Then it got cold - and I do mean COLD. Thirteen degrees last night and even the stinky cows behind us (or is it in front of us?) were headed over the river and through the woods.

This Thanksgiving I'm thankful for a lot. I'm thankful it hasn't gotten to less than 13 degrees. I'm thankful there wasn't more than 10 inches of snow. I'm thankful for a nice warm barn and succulent hay. (I admit, however, that my nose is so cold I've found it necessary to temporarily refuse Peanuts. I said temporarily.) I am REALLY thankful the goatmother had one lucid moment 'back when' and decided to buy an electric water bucket - ( for which I am also EXCEEDINGLY grateful the power was not out any longer than it was.) I'm even kind of thankful there are other warm goat bodies about. (Although I have to draw the line at being thankful for Ella.) Yes, indeed. I have quite a lot to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. I hope you do too.

But, OY, my poor stump!

The Case of the Crippled Confines

Well now. What have we here? It has been such a very long time since we had a decent mystery around here. Hey, ho, then! Marigold Holmes at your service. Assisted by the ever-faithful (and sometimes standing) Watson. Now, look at the evidence below. It is a broken and twisted wire. It is not just that, however. This is part of the wire that encloses our pasture. Okay, so I'm thinking you are probably saying, 'No big deal. A broken wire. So what?', but I assure you this occurrence is not as simple as it looks. For you see, this is 'field fence'. Now if you are not familiar with this kind of fencing, it is very strong and made of high-tensile steel. The wires are wrapped and not welded. In other words, it takes a hay of a lot of force to break this stuff.

So the question is, what could have done this - or who? The only other time the goatmother has had to repair damage like this was when the goatfather tried to drive the riding lawnmower through it. An epic day to be sure, and one that did indeed end in damage to the fence. However, it should be noted that the old lawnmower is a huge dinosaur of a thing, and when one puts that together with the goatfather's fervor when operating anything with a motor - well, you get the picture.



So, in light of this occurrence, Watson and I began our investigation. Watson, being more inclined to spend time in close proximity to the earth than myself, naturally began searching for any clues in that direction.


And I, using my extremely proficient side-scan radar panels, attempted to pick up any sign of unusual activity in the area.



Due to recent rains, though, I admit I got tired of wet feet and took a small 'drying out' break. Notice, however, how vigilant I remain. A true investigator to the end.



So, when all was said and done, we couldn't come up with a thing. Most distressing. I suppose it could have been one of those zombie deer whose leg got caught while attempting to jump over. We just can't imagine anything strong enough to do this kind of damage, but I can tell you that everyone here has been on high alert since. I guess we need to recall the Homegoat Security Team to active duty, and up the security status to Orange. After all, there are more members now. We're bound to notice something.

In the meantime, I guess we'll just have to continue eating our Peanuts as though nothing has happened. We certainly don't want to jump to any conclusions without proper evidence. I know, it's not the 'American Way', but after all, "The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our profession." - Sherlock Holmes. Let us not be hasty, my dear Watson!, for no doubt time will be our friend in this matter. Besides, if it turns out to be a bear, we can shove Boo to the front. That ought to slow him down considerably.

Gymnasties

As you may remember, Ella is an Alpine goat. Alpines are the natural athletes of the goat world, not to mention the hands-down pushiest. And believe you me, Ella allows no one to forget any aspect of this. Witness the picture below. This was taken when Ella was young. Actually this was taken when Boo was thin, so you can see just how long ago it was. At any rate, from the time Ella was small, having all four feet on the ground was never adequate. I suppose one could say gymnastics runs in her blood.


Yes, if there was an 'up' to be had, Ella was, and still is, there. Nothing high is safe, which is why the letters on the barn had to be mounted almost under the eaves. (In case you have forgotten, you can refresh your memory here. ) I know, it makes it awfully hard to read, but on the upside, if you come in on the drive, which is downhill, it almost looks normal. Almost. Anyway, what's a person to do? It's either that or have a sign minus a few letters.


Not only is nothing high left untouched, but nothing high is sacred either. Just look at the shot below. Aren't roofs for keeping out the rain? I had no idea a roof could double as a balance beam - hence the look of sheer confusion on my face as I step out to see what all the commotion is about. Oy.


So we've given Ella a new sobriquet, if you will -Elga Kornbutt. It fits, don't you think? No place is secure against attack. No space is sacred. No space is even out of reach or out of the considered realm of possibility. Remember my new hayrack? The one just for me? You guessed it. Even though it was placed in what was thought to be a position high enough to be out of Elga's reach, she has still managed to figure out a way to get her head in the top to pick out, or even pull out, all the choice stuff first. Look below. As I said, absolutely nothing is sacred, for goats' sake!


In the end, I suppose we are stuck with Ms. Kornbutt's propensity for practice of the mercurial athletic arts. (Wow. Wasn't that an awesome sentence? I wasn't sure I had it in me. Extra Peanut for that one.) She says, 'get used to it' - as if we had a choice. At any rate, it is what it is. "Anyway, I will go same road because I, I was born in gymnastics. This is my, how to say, my life and my duty." - Olga Korbut. Oy.

You Better Watch Out ...

Wow. It is November already. You know what that means, don't you? First of all, since it is past the 2nd, it means no more annoying election phone calls. I wanted a phone in the barn until I found out about that. Anyway, the second thing is that November means Christmas is right around the corner. No kidding. It's just like 7 weeks away.

With that in mind, I guess I'm going to have to straighten up and fly right or I'm in BIG trouble. (as if I didn't manage to find enough on my own). You see I'm in the proverbial 'dog' house again ... or would it be 'goat' house? Or maybe 'goat berry' house would be more like it. (Oy. stop with the digression already). Well, what happened was the goatmother was handing out Peanuts. I am ALWAYS at the front of the line. No surprise there, I guess. Now usually I'm very polite about the whole thing, taking turns and what not. But yesterday, I guess the planets were aligned in such a way as to influence my behavior and, well, I smacked Watson again. He was getting just too close to the Peanuts and everybody knows they are for me (except maybe Ella who thinks they are all for her; but she is deluded and we all know it, so it doesn't matter.) I guess, in retrospect, I shouldn't have listened to the planetary influences because Watson went down next to the gate and then he couldn't seem to manage getting upright again. (Well, hay, it isn't my fault where he chose to faint, is it?) Anyhow, he kind of rolled back and forth a bit like one of those Weebles ( Weebles wobble but they don't fall down! - except in this case it was more like 'Weebles wobble but they don't get up.') He did finally manage to get on his feet again, but by that time the goatmother was fairly annoyed with me.

Well, shoot!, says I. So when the goatmother came out with the goatfather to give out monthly pedicures, I was 'the very model of a modern major general'. That stupid halter was put on me and I jumped right up on the stand. No tugging, no cajoling, no lifting even. The goatmother looked at the goatfather and said, 'Oooo. That was just too easy.' Then I stood there and allowed her to trim my feet with a bare minimum of kicking. Why I didn't even pull my usual fall-off-the-stand-sideways-with-my-head-still-in-lockdown trick. Decorum. I had it.

By now you are probably wondering why I was able to defeat my inner brat so easily. The answer to that would be desire. Or maybe lust for what you see below.

The goatmother received a catalog in the mail and LOOK what was in it! Oh, be still my beating heart! Can you believe it??? Yes, Christmas is almost upon us and it is necessary to be a good girl if I expect to find this under my tree! I saw this on Amazon.com , too, and it didn't get very good reviews. In fact, people said nothing ever grew. However, unlike those poor souls, I have my very own built-in fertilizer factory. I do not foresee the same sad outcome for me. From now until Christmas I'm going to be on my very best behavior. Just you wait and see! The Peanut-growing thingy will be mine!!!! Oh, yes!!!

"You can't talk your way out of what you've behaved yourself into." - Stephen R. Covey

Oy.

Happy Spooky!

As if those zombie quackers weren't enough. Now we have to put up with zombie deer. Oy. Look at that one on the right with her mouth open. You can't hear it, but we certainly could. Brainzzz ... we want braainzzzz ... Scary stuff, I can tell you. Well, at least they weren't mumbling Peanutzz ... we want Peaanuutzzz ... That would have been unthinkably horrifying!


Still, look at that! Mouth open and headed our way. Ella is big and fast. She has nothing to fear. Peanut will just butt her legs out from under her. No problem for him. And Boo doesn't have a brain, so no worries there. I can, however, see that I have a dilemma. Everyone knows just where the brains are in this outfit. Well, hmmm ... maybe fainting goats are good for something after all. Watson will surely faint, and that will give me time to go hide. On second thought. I'm already in trouble on his account. I suppose I better not go there. Maybe the electric fence will stop zombie deer. My hooves are crossed - all four.

In the meantime, I'm counting on the Great Peanut stopping by here tonight. We are the most SINCERE! Sincerely weird, mind you, but SIN-CERE nonetheless! Happy Halloween! May the Great Peanut leave you mounds of three-to-a-shellers!

Ehhhh?

I'm in trouble.

Ehhhh? What did you say???

I said, I'm in TROUBLE.

Really, Marigold, speak up. I can't hear you!

I said, I'M IN TROUBLE!

Oh. Well. Why didn't you say so in the first place? What happened?

Well, you see, it's like this. The goatmother went to put everyone to bed and noticed that Ella was being her typical, Alpine, pushy self. She tried to butt me in an effort to keep me from getting to the hay. It's nothing new. I'm quite used to it really. But the goatmother saw this and invited me over to spend the night on the boys' side of the barn. Who was I to turn down such a gracious offer?

Well, things went fine. I kept the boys at bay all night and had the hay all to myself. In the morning, the goatmother came out and opened the door. I smiled. She smiled. The boys just stood there. What were they going to say? 'Hey, goatmother, the mini-muncher there kept us from eating hay all night?' I don't think so.

But then, well, I forgot myself for a moment. Just one little moment. One eensy, tiny, millisecond of undecorous behavior. I guess you could say I fouled my nest a bit. There are probably other, more colorful words to describe it, but you get my drift. Anyway, what I did was I whammed Watson. I whammed him so hard and so fast that he went down in one big fainting lump of goat. In my defense, it was just that I was so overwhelmed by the prospect of getting a Peanut. Or, it could have been that I was so very glad to see the goatmother. Yes, that's it. I was just SO overjoyed at seeing the goatmother's face again. After all, it had been an entire dark night - and I was probably on hay overload. Yes. That simply has to have been the problem.

Nonetheless, the goatmother informed me in no uncertain terms that I was never going to be invited to spend the night on the boys' side of the barn again. Ever. I've been very contrite since then. Even humble. What? You don't think I can do humble? Oy, ye of little faith. One does what one must. Besides, I'm getting my very own hay rack now.

Just remember, Marigold : "Character is doing the right thing when nobody's looking. There are too many people who think that the only thing that's right is to get by, and the only thing that's wrong is to get caught." ~J.C. Watts

Oy. You SO did NOT just say that to me. Did you?

Children Of The Corn

Remember when I said I had not written much about Halloween this year? At the time I wished there was something spooky to write about. Well, my friends, be careful what you wish for! Oh, do be careful!

Oy. Hide. Make NO noise! See the photo above? I apologize for the quality. It was taken through the window. It had to be. It simply was not safe outside.

Remember those cute baby ducks that were in the pond this last spring? In case you've forgotten, you can see them here. Anyway, what I neglected to further inform you of is that we actually had two batches of baby ducks this year. That, in itself, should have been an omen. But did we pay attention? No. Oy. At any rate, you now see the sad point to which we have come. We are burdened with the Halloween egression of zombie quackers.

Oh, no!!!!!!!!!!!! They are headed our way! No doubt responding to the call of 'He Who Quacks Behind The Barn'. Yes! They are heading for the barn!!!!! HIDE the Peanuts, for goats' sake!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"A time of tribulation has come. ... What do you want? ... We want to give you peace." - Children of the Corn.

Oy, boy.