Skip to main content

And Six Ways in which Goats are Weird

1. They look forward to paste deworming. They suck on the wormer syringe like it is a lollipop from the drive-through banking window.

2. They have eight hooves. Two on each leg.

3. They have little fermentation vats in their stomachs, and burp lager-scented burps.

4. They relish the weeds and ignore the grasses. This is why the goats have not had their pasture privileges limited, whilst I have been barred from entry to the Regrowth Area.

5. They have no swatters on their tails. This is a tragedy.

6. They have no top incisors. Those are the teeth that one would need to use if one were to dine upon delicious bites of tender grasses, and this may be an explanation for why they don't prefer these bites. They like things that can be grasped with the molars and rended violently into the mouth, such as the leafy end of a spiny shrub-branch. It takes all kinds.

Our baby goatlings are very big now—at 13 days of age, in fact, they are now too big to nurse standing up!  FarmWife took them to the vet that they might have their horn buds cauterized, thereby neutralizing the Seventh Way in which Goats are Weird, and soon she will begin locking them up for 12 hours at a time that she might milk their mother in the mornings. She wants to drink the product of this lactation in her coffee, which is a bizarrely human desire but which Missy the goat will kindly indulge.

I, Fenway Bartholomule, will stick with the tender grasses and orchard grass hay, thank you, whilst of course cherishing the memory of my own horse mother's sweet white milk.

We have, by the way, a special new song coming up. Next time we're out for a sunny-day ride, FarmWife will sing it for you . . . it's all about my own dear mother, and the astonishment with which she must have greeted me, her strange mule child.

Love,
Fenway Bartholomule

Comments

  1. Oh Fenway..you must not be getting applesauce syringes on a regular basis.

    A couple of times a week, my people bring the most delicious organic applesauce filled syringe.

    About every two(2) months, the applesauce seems to be a bit "off" (it is organic and doesn't contain any preservatives after all).

    I make a funny face and they bring me fresh applesauce the next time.

    Since they understand my expression, I think I have the smartest humans in Texas!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I was at an organized trail ride this weekend and saw some lovely mules- they made me think of you Fenway!
    Mules are really cool, someday I would love to have one of my own.
    Karen W.

    ReplyDelete
  3. OTTO: That is the BEST idea!!

    Fenaway~ you honestly make milk in my coffee sound gross. lol

    ReplyDelete
  4. the mule strip following me down as I read the blog makes me feel happy as I read, makes the blog actively partaking with me. Really nice.

    ReplyDelete
  5. You're all such wonderful readers! I love the way you comment with nice suggestions for my humans, happily mulish thoughts, praise for my website, and all sorts of things. Beth, I'm sorry if I ruined your morning beverage for you. Next time, try mare's milk . . . I recall that it's delicious!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Thanks in Advance for Your Mulish Opinion!

Popular Posts

Here are the Cloud Dog's X-Rays

Here, for your edification, are the X-rays of dear Paisley's leg. There is, apparently, no new break (since his Monday siezure) but there is, of course, a great deal of abnormality caused by years of living with a shortened ulna. His pronounced lameness, the vet says, may temporarily improve. Unlike me, Fenway Bartholomule, poor cloud dog can't expect much in the way of a full recovery.   Not having the $$$$ for surgery to fuse the joint, we are working on making some sort of rigid splint to support the limb and prevent further degeneration. That is, the humans (with their space-age material inventions and their opposable thumbs) are working on making a splint; I am working on giving cloud dog brayful looks of support and encouragement every time he totters into the yard to relieve himself. As always, he fears me (me?!) and keeps his distance.  Ears to you,  Fenway

Vegan Spring Rolls

I, Fenway Bartholomule, am a vegan: of course I only eat plants, not people! My human is too, so I'm sharing my blog with her today so that she can participate in the 2014 Virtual Vegan Potluck ! When you're done perusing the recipe for these delicious spring rolls, click "back" or "forward" for the entire potluck experience! Virtual Vegan Potluck: Spring Roll Appetizers Beautiful? Check. Healthy? Check. Delicious? Check. Easy? Check. Fancy? Check. Quick to clean up after? Check. Vegan? OF COURSE! If you're looking for something portable, colorful, and crowd-pleasing for your next potluck, look no further than these simple vegan spring rolls! The best part? You can substitute ANYTHING. I never make these the same way twice, so play around with cilantro, kale, cabbage, scallions, or whatever you think sounds good! Ingredients Veggie mix: 2 carrots (grated) 4 oz mung bean sprouts 1/3 cup chopped peanuts (raw, or roasted and salted) or ...

The Scoop on Bird

 Human here, to give you the scoop on Songbird. He is shiny, sweet, and wonderful . . . and a little bit broken hearted. (Fenway was once, too.) As I've gotten to know him more over the last month, I've come to understand that he associates humans with unpleasantness, at least, and suffering, at worst. He has some gnarly scars. He flinches away from touch, though he warms up quickly when treats are involved. He's quite a foodie. He's easily startled. He's alert, and vigilant. He doesn't always feel safe. He also really likes it at my mom's house, which has a slower pace than the wonderful boarding and lesson barn where he lived in June. He appreciates the predictable routine, the long quiet afternoons, and the retired horses who give him company. He has flattened the grass under the big cedar out back and created nests to rest in. The soft footing at my mom's is better for his newly bare feet. He is starting to believe he'll be ok.  I have ridden him...

That Which Was Foretold Has Come To Pass

  After some negotiation and exchange of words like "motheaten" and "raggedy", Farmwife talked me into enduring the roaching of my mane, which I had rubbed on the fence while reaching for delectable edibles at my previous home. We both agreed on four things: 1)  it was essential to retain my forelock, which is a thing of splendor that adds greatly to my dashing good looks. I'll get a picture for you tomorrow. 2) once the cut has grown out a bit, she will give me those fancy castle turrets that she used to style for Fenway.  3) we owe our dear readers a better photo, when I have not just rolled in the mud.  4) there is no hairstyle capable of making me look anything but marvelous.