Whereas I, Fenway Bartholomule, have a chronic hunger which is not satisfied by nibbling upon the invisible grasses of my overgrazed acre;
Whereas Arrietty G. Teaspoon, my most constant companion, has a chronic hunger too and is adorable when fat;
Whereas the humans spent all day yesterday laboring to stuff my small barn to the gills with fresh, delectable grasses in abundant, succulent bales;
Whereas the goats have sinister intentions towards the grasses, such as an intention to strew the stems about and urinate upon them;
Whereas the tower of bales within my barn obscures my view of the far wall, which was a sight lovely to behold with it's 2x4 framing and it's felt paper liner;
Whereas the humans sacrificed themselves most mightily in order to stuff my barn, obtaining multiple stings upon the head and neck from angry paper wasps, who are now dead for their sins;
Whereas there is no time like the present,
I, Fenway Bartholomule, propose that all of the hay be given to me at once. A meager flake, morning and evening, is hardly enough to keep life and limb together.
Chew on that idea, FarmWife, while I watch the new hay from behind this electric fence.