Caramba! I did not realize how difficult it is to write a blog! My little friend PeeWee the Pygmy goat had such a way with words. He could chat on and on all day which, at times, would drive the rest of us “loco”, crazy. Tio Barnaby would always be grumbling under his breath: “pesky little chatterbox”. I would tell PeeWee to be quiet or Tio Barnaby would butt him, but PeeWee would just look up at me with a twinkle in his eye and say “I know, Nikki. But it is so much fun to annoy ‘im. ‘e is so easy to tease, I cannot ‘elp myself.” (He never could pronounce the “H”)
We have had some pretty cold weather lately, cold for South Texas that is. It has been a long time since our water trough froze, and the grass crunched under our hooves. Fortunately, I have a nice warm winter coat, as well as a nice barn to sleep it. The barn is more like a metal structure covered by a big heavy tarp that keeps the cold wind out in the winter but allows the cool summer breeze to blow through when rolled up. The horses have their own stalls but they like to stay outside. Not me. Night time comes and it’s back to the barn and close the door. Don’t want to be coyote chow! Although I don’t think they hang around much anymore since our noisy next door neighbor shoots off his guns all the time. Vecino latoso. Bothersome neighbor. Our little pasture used to be so nice and quiet before he moved in.
Well, I think that’s all for today. Promise I’ll try to write. more often. Hasta luego! See ya later!
Life is slowly getting back to normal on our little ranch after the tragedy of three weeks ago. Our mistress, or Lovey as the litte cat Chewbakka calls her, now pens us up every night for safety’s sake. The Border Collies, Barkley and Rio, and she patrol the fence on a regular basis, checking for holes where the coyotes might get through. I can feel the sadness in her heart when she feeds us in the evening, lingering in the pen with us. I know her thoughts are still with PeeWee and Pongo. I miss them also.
I have included a picture of myself so you would know what I look like. Words can only descibe so much. As you can see there are many spots on my coat, hence my name Manyspots. I am also the only goat with horns, my brother Michael having been born without horns (what is referred to as “polled”) and Uncle Barnaby having been disbudded when he was two weeks old. This due to Show Ring regulations that require all show wethers to be hornless. He won a 2nd and a 3rd place at a couple of local fairs when he was a year old. Lovey then turned him loose with Pongo, who had won a 1st and a 2nd at the same fairs, and Ping, another goat who died before I came to live on the ranch. Together Uncle Barnaby and Uncle Pongo grew up together with Ping who was a year older than they. He had also been a prize winning wether. Lovey no longer shows goats, but she likes to have us around because we keep the fences clean of weeds, and the trees trimmed up. “We are ze gardeners of ze pasture,” PeeWee would say. I miss his sense of humor.
Hello, my name is Nicholas Manyspots, or Nikki for short. I am a young Spanish goat and live on a lovely small ranch in South Texas. This blog would normally be written by Merlin Petitbonhomme, aka PeeWee, but ten days ago a big tradegy happened at our peaceful little ranch. Bad, bad coyotes dug their way under the fence and killed two members of my goat family: PeeWee and Pongo Witjas (that’s Whitecoat in Afrikaans). I was very, very frightened and ran away as fast as I could along with my brother Michael Whitefoot and Uncle Barnaby Bombadil. We were able to get way but PeeWee and Pongo were not so fortunate.
I remember how excited PeeWee was when he first started this blog. “It is time for ze world to see itself zrough ze eyes of a goat!” he had said in his funny french accent. Now, he is gone. He was my very good friend. My brother and I came to live at the ranch as very young 3-month-old kids. PeeWee took us both under his wing and would not allow the larger goats to bully us. He taught us many things: where the good eating is, what plants not to eat, where to run if the rain catches you away from the shelter of the pen. He would play with us, too. And he always had a good story to tell.
This is my way of thanking him for his guidance and friendship. I am but a young goat, but I will do my best to follow in PeeWee’s hoofsteps. Aurevoir, Merlin Petitbonhomme. Until we meet again, cher ami. (As you can see, he also taught me French <g>)
Merlin Petitbonhomme aka PeeWee
Ze rain, ze rain, she never stops! My ‘ooves, zey are getting soft because of so much water. Being a goat, you know, I do not like all zis wet weazer. We goats prefer it dry. When it is dry, you do not get zat smelly fungus between your toes. What do you call it? Trash? No, zat is what Lovey takes out at night. Alzough, it too can be smelly at times (LOL). Truck? No, zat is what Lovey uses to get ze feed from ze feed store. Trush? Some ‘ow zat still doesn’t seem right. Oh, I know! Zrush. Yes. I ‘eard my Quarter ‘orse friend Squeaky talking about it ze ozer day, as well as somezing else ‘e called “Foot Rot”. I found a picture on ze Internet to show you. Nasty looking, n’est ce pas? I am just glad Lovey has nice dry sheds where we goats can lay down and watch ze rain, and sing (in French, of course) “Il pleut, il pleut, bergere, ramene tes moutons…”
‘ave you ever ‘ad an itch you cannot scratch? I tink it is one of ze most annoying tings in life. You itch, you itch, you itch, but you just cannot reach zat itchy spot and it is driving you crazy! And ze culptrits of all zis? Lice! Yes, lice. Zose tiny little pesky insects zat crawl about your skin driving you mad. Fortunately, Lovey finds ze time to brush us goats once a week (she is a little bit too busy to do it every day, alzough zat would be really nice), which ‘elps very much. She also dusts us wiz someting zat makes ze lice go away for a little while, but zey always seem to come back. Maybe some day someone will invent someting zat will get rid of zose pesky lice once and for all!
Memorial Day weekend was a very busy time at ze ranch. Zer is always very much to do, and always not enough time to do it in, especially when everyting falls on ze shoulders of one person. Lovey (zis is ze name zat my friend Chewbakka ze cat has given her) does a good job taking care of ze ranch on her own. In spite of all ze work, she always finds time to spend with us goats. She knows I especially like it when she scratches my back. C’est bon! C’est bon! It is so good!
Please forgive my accent. I am trying very ‘ard to pronounce ze English “th”, I just cannot seem to get my tongue to co-operate. “The” always seems to come out as “ze”, and “thing” comes out as “ting”. Ze ozer goats tink it is very funny and tease me a lot, but I don’t care. I just tell zem zat if zey tried to speak French, zey would sound funny, too. N’est ce pas? True, no?
Tomorrow is Memorial Day, a day when ‘umans are supposed to remember ze brave men and women who valiantly served zeir country and gave ze ultimate sacrifice, zeir lives. I say “supposed to” because, unfortunately, many Americans have forgotten ze meaning of “Memorial Day”. To zem it is no more zan anozer ‘oliday, anozer opportunity to pursue zeir recreational enveadors or shop at ze malls where merchants offer Memorial Day bargains.
Quel dommage! What a pity! To forget zose to whom you owe your freedom and your liberties is very sad. In other countries of ze world, zey do not forgot so easily. In France, Remembrance Day or Armistice Day, held on November 11th, is very important. All ze villages in France erect memorials for those who died during ze wars, particularly Ze Great War or WWI.
It is my ‘ope that you will remember ze fallen soldiers. And do not forget ze animals who also served and died for you and your freedom.
Photo courtesy of Hubbers.com