A Diabolical Tale of a Farmer and Her Goats

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 As Logged By:

Agent West

 

Nigerian Dwarfs are so delightful

Their colors are such a sightful!

Have you heard the diabolical tale,

The one involving a small hay bale?

 

Bugsy is in a tizzy!

Worse than itty, bitty Lizzie.

Slam!  Wham!  Bash!  Crash!

No treats?  Well, gotta dash.

 

 As if the chicken suit wasn't enough, now this diabolical dude is dressed in overalls and a hat made of scruff.
 
"Ah, smell that country air!"
 
All I can smell, Mommy, is the stink of animal poopy.
 
"Which horse is she going to be showing?"  Mommy asks the farmer, whom I assume is named Ted.
 
"That one over there," the farmer, that I've nicknamed Ted, answers.  He points at a tall horse, bigger than the stink of a stink bomb three thousand!  The dark grey steed lifts his head and poses.  
 
Leading Mommy away from the horses, this farmer, who's very possibly named Ted, brings us to a group of animals that are as small as me!  
 
"Ha!  Ha!  He!  He!"
 
"Aren't they cute, West?"  Mommy oohs and ahhs.  Meanwhile I can't help but enjoy the colors of such a mix.  What in the world are these? 
 
"I see the little one likes our herd of Nigerian Dwarf goats."
 
Oh, yes.  Oh, yes I do!  They are so cute and, I bet, they'll be diabolical too.
 
"That is great that Debbie is showing again," Mommy says as she lowers a hand for a goat to sniff.
 
Me!  Me!  I want a goat to sniff me! 
 
"Well, this is all assuming that Debbie's knee heals in time."
 
"Oh, no.  What happened to her knee?"
 
The farmer, whose name has to be Ted, takes in a big breath to start his crazy tale.
 
"Debbie went out to start on her evening chores.  She carried the chickens' feed in one hand and a small hay bale for the goats in the other.  
 
"Now, because it's fall.  That means the goats have gotten moody.  Those ladies will act like best friends one day and be ready to kill one another the next."
 
This is when Farmer Ted, as I assume he's named, pauses for a shiver.  
 
"Poor Debbie noticed how irritable Bugsy was acting.  She thought some hay would tide her over, keep her mood from getting out of hand, but that was a hopeless hope.  
 
"The moment the little doeling, Lizzie, shook her head, Bugsy charged.  
 
"With horns out in front, she charged on forward.  Right into Lizzie and right into Debbie.  Or should I say, 'right into the side of Debbie's knee.'"
 
It's true, I note as I look.  These goats are short enough that they only come to knee height.
 
"Is that all?"  Mommy asks.  "They only hit the side of her knee?"
 
"They hit it and, then, Bugsy kept pushing.  Two goats ramming and slamming until a bone in Debbie's leg felt ready to break.
 
"Down she fell to spare her bone.  To keep from ending up with a broken leg.  Except, when she landed, Lizzie jumped over her but Bugsy did not.  Straight onto her knee Bugsy's hoof thudded, till there sounded a POP!
 
"Poor Debbie cried out in pain.  Meanwhile, Bugsy sniffed at Debbie's hands, then sniffed at the pockets in her britches.  Finding no treats, Bugsy just snorted and waltzed away."
 
Hmm...
 
I think I might want to meet this diabolical Bugsy.
 
 
Upcoming Log:
 
Previous Log:  A Diabolical Fright? 

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