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.

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???

The Goatmother's New Year's Resolution

Okay.  I think that about sums it up. 

Oy.

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

The Animals Talked

"Hey, Goatmother.  We're talking at midnight.  Are you going to come out to the barn?"

"No."

"What the hay do you mean, 'No'?  I said we're talking.  T. A. L. K. I. N. G.  Capiche???  Aren't you interested?"

"No."

"Okay.  Well, I guess if you've heard one animal talk, you've heard them all.  And I guess it is kind of  late and all ...  I suppose you'll probably be sleeping really soundly and ... But don't you think you might just skip down to the barn for a few?  It's really not something one experiences every day.  And ... well ... "

<silence + 'The Look'>

"Oy."

My Christmas Wish For You

People likely wonder why a goat would blog.  I have an answer to that.  I say, 'Why the hay not?'  I blog because I can.  But the main reason I blog is to give something back.  In a world that seems fraught with turmoil and tragedy, sometimes the only solace in a day is a little laughter.  If I can brighten just one person's day one tiny bit, it is all worthwhile to me.   I treasure my readers.   For me, blogging is all about 'did I manage to bring a smile to somebody today?', or 'did I manage to help someone feel something today besides dread?', or 'did I manage to take somebody's mind off their troubles for a few measly moments?'  That's why I blog, and if I, by some miracle, manage to do that for even one person, then I was successful.  So I write a lot of words and sometimes I post a picture or two (Although, let me tell you, pushing that teensy button is awfully hard with hooves.).  But pictures aren't my main focus.  I'll leave that to experts like the SnowCatcher and Candy over at Lazy J Bar C. 

Now some folks blog because they have an 'opinion' and they think everybody needs to hear it.  I have opinions too, but like the Dalai Lama says, " If anything I've said seems useful to you, I'm glad. If not, don't worry. Just forget about it."   I don't expect anyone to think like I do.  First of all, you'd have to be a goat to do that.  Alpines won't and Nubians can't, so It's kind of a moot point.  At any rate, if you were wondering, well then, now you know.  So with that, I thought it might be a good time to let you know what my Christmas wish is for you ... any of you and ALL of you.  Even the Alpines of the world.

May you know peace amidst upheaval. 

May you have faith in yourself and be secure in the knowledge that you are special, even during those times when you may not be inclined to feel that way.

May you know that you are beautiful even when you think you are not, and may the light of your soul pour forth loud and strong enough that everyone takes notice.

May you be a beacon to someone, anyone, who needs to find their way, and may someone be a beacon to you if you are lost.

May you have UNDERSTANDING.  The kind where your feelings are acknowledged and accepted as valued, important and worthwhile,  rather than belittled or judged.

May you know unconditional love.  Period.  No qualifiers.  

May you recognize joy from the simplest of things - the most important things.  And may you refuse to be lost in the abyss of despair, for there is always hope, even when we are unable to grasp it readily.

May you know the immense blessing of friendship and my you be a friend.  Both are jewels whose worth is beyond measure. (This one should probably be repeated for emphasis.)  MAY YOU KNOW THE IMMENSE BLESSING OF FRIENDSHIP AND MAY YOU BE A FRIEND.  BOTH ARE JEWELS WHOSE WORTH IS BEYOND MEASURE. 

May you never experience prejudice.

May you know that though another be disgruntled, it is not your fault, nor is it your responsibility.

May you never miss an opportunity to tell someone when you notice something nice about them.  It may mean the difference between a good day and a bad day - even your own.

And above all, may you know laughter.  Guffaws preferred, but chuckles will do.  Day in and day out in at least some small way.

Oh, and Peanuts.  I wish you more Peanuts than you can eat.  Though, honestly, I can't imagine there actually being more Peanuts than you could eat.  I can't imagine that at all.   I don't even want to try.  Oh, hay.  I just wish you Peanuts.  Period.

The Merriest of Christmases!

"Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.” - Charles Dickens

Necessità, the Short Yet Adorably Airplane-Eared Goat (Part 3)

Hey, ho!  'Tis I, Spielgoat, returned of late.  VERY late, as a matter of fact, but you know I've had a lot of Christmas shopping to do.  Plus have you ever tried to carry packages on your head?  It's kind of like those African women with the baskets on their heads only they're far more skilled at it.  Oy.  Anyway, now where was I?  Oh, yes ...

You may recall that our heroine, Necessità, had just come upon the dazzlingly beautiful angel, Millie, sent to guide her way.  Millie tells Necessità that they need to travel to Bethlehem where 'her ears can do wondrous things that no other ears can do'.  Necessità was rather impressed with this news since, up to now, those ears had been a bit of a source of conflict in her life.  Life's kind of like that, you know.  If it is different, it is to be abhorred.  Like a vacuum.  Nature abhors those.   Come to think of it,  so do most housewives.  Anyway, there was one small difficulty.  Here they were in Iowa, and just exactly where was Bethlehem?   First of all, in the United States alone there are no less than 19 states with Bethlehems, and 7 of those have more than one.  Now why would you need more than one?  In fact, the fine state of Tennessee has no less than 7 Bethlehems.  How confusing is that?  Even worse, how does this kind of thing happen?  I think there were likely Nubians involved.

Necessità had no idea what her ears could do that no other ears could, but she was darned sure willing to try to find out.  So the pair set off in search of the proper Bethlehem.  It needed to be one preferably nowhere near the environs of those hairy-legged Roman Soldiers because, well, let's face it.  They're just nasty.  And it would certainly pay to avoid Tennessee since there they couldn't seem to find the Bethlehems they kept misplacing.  So how in the hay could anyone else be expected to find them?  At any rate, when all was said and done, the ideal plan seemed to be to just set out and see where they ended up.

By and by, the pair, wearied by their search, came to the great state of New York.  There they stopped by a lovely farm to rest.  Now this farm was home to many wonderful creatures, not just goats.  There were some horses and even some sheep.  But the most resplendent of the inhabitants was a sprightly little goat named Isobelle. Isobelle welcomed the tired travelers and, after hearing of their search, told them she knew of the perfect one to help them.  With that, she sent the two back on their way.  To where, you ask?  Why Clay, New York, of course, home to the most fashionable Yule goat of the ages, Darla, and her ever so kind and helpful goatmum, Mimi, the Goat Borrower.

By and by, Millie and Necessità arrived in Clay only to find that Darla had gone on a trip to Bethlehem herself.   They were greeted with  great enthusiasm, however,  by the Goat Borrower (because that's how MiMi is) and she asked them in.  It had begun to snow there in Clay, and our little duo could go no further without rest and sustenance.  Mimi, ever the grandest of hostesses, offered to share her Peanuts and even the ever-faithful Yellow Dog gave up his couch to the travelers.  (Now how generous is that?)  After a time, the snow fell so hard and fast that going further seemed a complete impossibility. Mimi began to fret, for how could Darla ever make it back to Clay, her being in the family way and all?  Surprised at this news, Millie and Necessità looked at each other.

"Just how far is Bethlehem from here?, asked Necessità?

"Why only two hours and twenty nine minutes according to Ye Olde Yahoo Maps and as the crow flies.", replied Mimi.  "But with the snow falling as it is, it will be far too deep for Darla to manage.  What if her blessed event were to happen along the way?"

"I know!", cried Necessità.  "I shall fly to Bethlehem using my ears  and guide Darla safely home.  This is what my ears were meant for!  All I have to do is to work out the correct pitch, or nose angle, and the most advantageous ear angle - not dihedral and certainly not anhedral, but angled just enough to produce the proper stability.  Then calculate the flight level to rise just enough to glide along the surface of the snow with Darla and her bundle slung on my back (and without looking like a peddler just opening my pack) without crashing.  I shall have to adhere to visual flight rules since I have no instrumentation, but I think I can do this!"

And so it was set.  Necessità, the adorable little goat with the airplane ears, set her flaps and took off into the wind bound for Bethlehem.  By and by she reached Bethlehem and located Darla (because how could anyone miss a goat with such fabulous fashion sense and such a magnificent Yule coat?)  Capra-Air  took off at 0300 hours, but met with an ill wind and blizzard conditions.  Darla was getting peckish, but sadly the flight had stopped giving Peanuts.  With great difficulty,  Necessità tried to keep to her flight plan, but the snow was too thick.  Suddenly she heard a sound no other ears could have heard.  The soft angelic voice of Millie calling her, guiding her home.  Following the voice, Necessità landed safely and just in the jolly old St. Nick of time, for Darla had gone into labor.

Later, the group gathered around Darla and her blessed event.  The snow had stopped and a bright star shone overhead marking the place of the birth.  A new Yule goat had entered the world to help heal it and to bring peace, for everyone knows if anyone can bring comfort and joy, it is a goat.  All thanks to a short yet adorably airplane-eared little goat with a penchant for philosophy.  Who knew?

And Necessità?  Well, with her new found purpose, she was able to fly home.  Back to the stable where she was born.  Back to the Alpines, the hairy-legged Roman Soldiers and to the Nubians.  The ones who could remember where they were supposed to be anyway.  And most importantly, back to the Peanuts.  Most importantly to the Peanuts.

"Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home!" - Charles Dickens.

The end.

Finally.

Oy.

P.S.  The SnowCatcher and the Lizard met up in Tannu Tuva where they had independently each gone in search of the famous Tuvan Throat Singers.  They fell madly in love and got married.  Mrs. Micawber wrote a famous one-of-a-kind book on the magic of Crochet and ended up on Jay Leno.  And Millie went back to Iowa, which is, as we all know, Heaven anyway.