The farmer's car is a little black vw station wagon.
Lately the farmer has been driving all over. Down to Longbranch to feed and ride the horses every day because they are at summer camp while their pasture is reseeded. Up to Gig Harbor to fetch paint and supplies for the barn remodeling.
Over to Jerry's feed store in Vaughn to get grain, grain, grain for the piggish milkers.
Anyway, all the time we would see the farmer putting things in the car and never taking them out, saying things like, "I might need that."
So I knew there were a lot of things in the car but I was surprised when the farmer's friend had to drive separately from the farmer instead of riding in the station wagon - because there was only room for one person.
But anyway today the farmer took most of the things out of the station wagon - not all, don't be silly - and even I was surprised to see what was in there. It was like watching the clown car at the circus.
This is not a complete list, just a small sampling.
1. A red metal tack box that says "Elvis" - no one knows why - and contains electric sheep shears, clipper blades, clipper oil, clipper grease, fitting accoutrements for show sheep (which we don't have any of thank Goodness. If there is anything dumber than a Nubian, it is a sheep. Bless their hearts, I say).
2. A cordura breastcollar and other tack for a cheap western saddle.
3. A Buena Vista style leather saddle for a Tennessee Walker.
4. A pair of posthole diggers.
5. A can of rustoleum paint.
6. A border collie.
7. Assorted lumber, including pieces of cedar siding and a 3-foot length of treated 6x8.
8. Several bits, including a copper mouth snaffle, a Tom Thumb, and a Kimberwick. A lunging whip, a horse tack box (not the Elvis box) full of combs, brushes, hoofpicks, neatsfoot oil, fly spray, wormer.
9. A bag of green apples.
10. A cheap cordura western saddle.
11. A boston terrier.
12. Assorted paperwork needed to complete an extension-to-file 2007 income tax return.
13. A clay birdhouse.
14. A saddle pad. A plaid wool blanket. A rug. A heavy winter Carhartt jacket. A frisbee. Several dog leashes. A phone book.
15. An extra-large rubbermaid tub full of Tammy's Special Mix. (horse grain.)
16. An old iron double tree (for two horses to pull farm equipment).
17. Assorted reading material including books, newspapers, maps, magazines and flyers.
18. Sixteen charcoal gray Holland paving bricks.
"This will never happen again," the farmer said soberly, examining each item with dismay. Then the farmer got ready to go down to Longbranch.
"Well, I will definitely need these," the farmer said, and put the cheap western saddle and the horse tack box back in the station wagon.
"And probably these," and the bits went back in.
"And I wouldn't go anywhere without this," and in went the border collie, very pleased at the roomy new accommodations.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Friday, August 03, 2007
Brats Next Door
Well the farmer got mad today but not mad enough. We were lolling in the front pasture when two little fat kids (human) from next door came up to the fence.
I thought they might have some licorice or cookies since they were fat kids so I went right up to the fence. Hannah Belle had the same idea and she came right up behind me. Peanut and Betty and Zilla came up behind Hannah Belle, and then Boo the ocean liner came pushing her way to the front, while Joy and Lucy actually stood up on the fence trying to reach into the kids' pockets.
Meanwhile those little fat boys were saying, "Baa, baa, baa," which on the scale of witty remarks is right around zero, in my opinion, but I stayed long enough to make sure they didn't have any ginger snaps.
Then I left. "Come on, Hannah Belle, " I said. And Hannah Belle and Peanut and Zilla and Betty left too. And Ruby and Annabel left. And Joy and Lucy left. And Eo left, and Aggie and Vel. And Scouty. And finally even Boo turned her wide load around and left.
Well, what happened then? The little princes picked up rocks and started throwing them at us.
One of them HIT me! I bawled. And then Boo bawled - she is a pretty hard target to miss, and then everybody started running.
Well, I saw one of the little teletubbies with his arm cocked back and just then I heard the loudest booming voice of all time.
CUT IT OUT!!!!!!!!!!
It was the farmer, madder than a hornet, and the two little rock-throwers were frozen solid with fear. They were stone cold busted, two of them standing there with rocks in their hands.
The farmer gave them a good yelling at, and asked a series of rhetorical questions - sometimes these are the best kind, I think.
Did they know that they could put somebody's eye out?
Would THEY like it if someone threw rocks at them?
What if they had hit that little baby goat (meaning Peanut)?
Didn't they have anything else to do?
Why did they do it?
Well they really liked the goats and they were playing (meaning they said "baa baa baa" over and over) with them (meaning us) and then the goats (meaning us) left and they wanted them to come back.
Good grief. I don't know how it happened but one of the little brats is going to come over tomorrow to give Peanut his bottle. And they both say they won't ever throw rocks at us any more.
Yeah right. Where is that pellet gun when you need it?
I thought they might have some licorice or cookies since they were fat kids so I went right up to the fence. Hannah Belle had the same idea and she came right up behind me. Peanut and Betty and Zilla came up behind Hannah Belle, and then Boo the ocean liner came pushing her way to the front, while Joy and Lucy actually stood up on the fence trying to reach into the kids' pockets.
Meanwhile those little fat boys were saying, "Baa, baa, baa," which on the scale of witty remarks is right around zero, in my opinion, but I stayed long enough to make sure they didn't have any ginger snaps.
Then I left. "Come on, Hannah Belle, " I said. And Hannah Belle and Peanut and Zilla and Betty left too. And Ruby and Annabel left. And Joy and Lucy left. And Eo left, and Aggie and Vel. And Scouty. And finally even Boo turned her wide load around and left.
Well, what happened then? The little princes picked up rocks and started throwing them at us.
One of them HIT me! I bawled. And then Boo bawled - she is a pretty hard target to miss, and then everybody started running.
Well, I saw one of the little teletubbies with his arm cocked back and just then I heard the loudest booming voice of all time.
CUT IT OUT!!!!!!!!!!
It was the farmer, madder than a hornet, and the two little rock-throwers were frozen solid with fear. They were stone cold busted, two of them standing there with rocks in their hands.
The farmer gave them a good yelling at, and asked a series of rhetorical questions - sometimes these are the best kind, I think.
Did they know that they could put somebody's eye out?
Would THEY like it if someone threw rocks at them?
What if they had hit that little baby goat (meaning Peanut)?
Didn't they have anything else to do?
Why did they do it?
Well they really liked the goats and they were playing (meaning they said "baa baa baa" over and over) with them (meaning us) and then the goats (meaning us) left and they wanted them to come back.
Good grief. I don't know how it happened but one of the little brats is going to come over tomorrow to give Peanut his bottle. And they both say they won't ever throw rocks at us any more.
Yeah right. Where is that pellet gun when you need it?
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Summertime
It is well and truly summertime and you know what they say about that.
The living is so easy that several girls are on the Fat List, including yours truly.
The down-belows are slick and glossy; they go out during the day and munch hardhack and all-you-can-eat canary grass. Several babies and dry does are in very good condition (dairygoatspeak for 'waytoofat'), and even the milkers (Betsy and Wronny and Peaches) are tending toward the chubby. Peaches' little daughter Jules is as fat as a tick - in addition to grain and all-you-can-eat brush and grass, she is on a wide-open 24-hour milk buffet, and is quickly becoming the poster doeling for kidhood obesity.
Boo is also a tub - in my opinion she needs a couple of those big mirrors like the truck drivers have - and even Brandy looks like a normal goat instead of a skeleton.
Only Winnie and Penrose are still thin, and that is because they both milk like a fish.
But I have also noticed that there are a lot of fat robins. I have not seen fat robins before and I'm not sure how they fly. But there are several of them waddling around here.
It's just my opinion, but I think it is better to be a fat goat than a fat robin. At least I do not need a runway to get off the ground. Although sometimes when I see Boo heading for the feeder I wonder if it wouldn't be easier if there were a couple of tugboats to pull her in.
And that little Jules. My goodness. Behind her back everyone calls her Butterball, and even that is being polite.
The living is so easy that several girls are on the Fat List, including yours truly.
The down-belows are slick and glossy; they go out during the day and munch hardhack and all-you-can-eat canary grass. Several babies and dry does are in very good condition (dairygoatspeak for 'waytoofat'), and even the milkers (Betsy and Wronny and Peaches) are tending toward the chubby. Peaches' little daughter Jules is as fat as a tick - in addition to grain and all-you-can-eat brush and grass, she is on a wide-open 24-hour milk buffet, and is quickly becoming the poster doeling for kidhood obesity.
Boo is also a tub - in my opinion she needs a couple of those big mirrors like the truck drivers have - and even Brandy looks like a normal goat instead of a skeleton.
Only Winnie and Penrose are still thin, and that is because they both milk like a fish.
But I have also noticed that there are a lot of fat robins. I have not seen fat robins before and I'm not sure how they fly. But there are several of them waddling around here.
It's just my opinion, but I think it is better to be a fat goat than a fat robin. At least I do not need a runway to get off the ground. Although sometimes when I see Boo heading for the feeder I wonder if it wouldn't be easier if there were a couple of tugboats to pull her in.
And that little Jules. My goodness. Behind her back everyone calls her Butterball, and even that is being polite.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Blessed Rain
Thank God for the rain, the blessed rain. That's what the farmer is saying.
The farmer is very tired out by haying, and the rain has put a temporary stop to it. In case you haven't heard, you have to make hay while the sun shines.
When it rains, you can lie around moaning about your tired muscles for a day or two until the haying resumes.
Here are some tips for haying, if you ever have to do it.
1. If you are considering haying, first of all have a dozen or so children, preferably boys or burly girls. Feed them a lot of pancakes and homeschool them so they don't hear a lot of foolish talk about child labor laws. (They will have to be your own children; you won't be able to make anyone else's children hay for you.)
2. When you are picking up hay in the field, use your hay hooks. If you pick up the hay by the strings, you will hurt your hands, and much more importantly, you will mess up the hay bales.
3. Don't pick up messed up hay bales. Just go on to the next bale. The people who don't get to the hayfield on time can have all the messed up smiley bales. These bales won't stack nicely.
4. When you are building your hay stack, make sure all the bales on the bottom are really nice. Iffy bales can go on top.
5. Don't pick up bales in the hayfield when it is 95 degrees.
6. Call up your city friends and tell them you are having a "hay party." It will be so much fun and so quaint! Working like a dog in the hot sun picking up actual hay bales for actual animals to eat! It is just like a reality show, only even more real!
7. Bring a sixpack of nice cold beer for the hay man.
8. Deliver the choicest hay to your favorite goat. (That's me, Baby Belle.)
The farmer is very tired out by haying, and the rain has put a temporary stop to it. In case you haven't heard, you have to make hay while the sun shines.
When it rains, you can lie around moaning about your tired muscles for a day or two until the haying resumes.
Here are some tips for haying, if you ever have to do it.
1. If you are considering haying, first of all have a dozen or so children, preferably boys or burly girls. Feed them a lot of pancakes and homeschool them so they don't hear a lot of foolish talk about child labor laws. (They will have to be your own children; you won't be able to make anyone else's children hay for you.)
2. When you are picking up hay in the field, use your hay hooks. If you pick up the hay by the strings, you will hurt your hands, and much more importantly, you will mess up the hay bales.
3. Don't pick up messed up hay bales. Just go on to the next bale. The people who don't get to the hayfield on time can have all the messed up smiley bales. These bales won't stack nicely.
4. When you are building your hay stack, make sure all the bales on the bottom are really nice. Iffy bales can go on top.
5. Don't pick up bales in the hayfield when it is 95 degrees.
6. Call up your city friends and tell them you are having a "hay party." It will be so much fun and so quaint! Working like a dog in the hot sun picking up actual hay bales for actual animals to eat! It is just like a reality show, only even more real!
7. Bring a sixpack of nice cold beer for the hay man.
8. Deliver the choicest hay to your favorite goat. (That's me, Baby Belle.)
Sunday, July 08, 2007
The Adventures of GoatBoy
Peanut did not get the memo that he is not a normal goat, even though the farmer insists he isn't.
Today he was out climbing the goat tree in the horse pasture while the horses are at summer camp.
He seems to think he is a normal goatboy. In fact he is much more of a hooligan than his big handsome brother Zilla, who bursts into tears whenever he can't see his mama for 15 seconds or longer.
Peanut is the only goat who has been in the sacred cheese room. Anyone else would have been spanked for going in there.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
The Hay
The Hay.
The Hay is ready.
It is out in the field in Longbranch and the farmer is going to get it. The Hay is on a heartbreaking hillside overlooking Carr Inlet near Driftwood Point, where it has been enjoying the sunshine and the delicious breezes off the Sound.
The Hay is beautiful this year. But then, I think The Hay is beautiful every year. I love The Hay.
The farmer loves The Hay too, but also hates it. The Hay smells good and makes all the animals happy, but you have to pay for it, either through the nose or through the muscles, and you have to worry about it.
Is The Hay too dry? Is The Hay too wet? Was The Hay cut too soon? Was it cut too late? Is there enough of it? Is there too much of it? Would the Skokomish Valley hay have been better? Will there be enough room for the alfalfa when it comes?
This year The Farmer is paying for The Hay through the muscles, by going out into the field to pick it up, and load it on the trailer, and drive it back to the farm, and unload it from the trailer, and stack it in the barn.
This will be much cheaper than having The Hay delivered.
But it is very exhausting, so the farmer is very grumpy, and Lori is even grumpier, because Lori doesn't love-hate The Hay like the farmer, she just hates it.
As for me, maybe I mentioned it, I love The Hay.
The Hay is beautiful, and sweet. And The Hay smells like Forever. If anyone ever asks you what Forever is like, just tell them Forever is like The Hay.
They will either know what you mean, or they won't, but in any case, The Hay will be here long after they are gone, so it doesn't really matter.
To The Hay: I love you.
The Hay.
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