Harry has sage advice

I heard deep sighs as I walked to the barn. There sat all The Goofballs with their little goat faces looking glum.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

Pickles pushed something towards me-it was the farm calendar that had just arrived from the printer.

I think I know where this is going, I thought.

“Harry always gets picked for everything,” Pickles said, as she pointed at the calendar cover.

“Well, I am quite handsome,” Harry said, strolling by.

“But I’m so stinkin’ cute!” said Pancakes, the baby of the group.

“We didn’t even get to vote,” said Puddles the goat.

“The chickens didn’t get any coverage!” said one of the hens, and then the entire flock broke into loud clucks.

“The Goose made it in, twice!” said another hen.

Earnest the pig happened in on the discussion.

“Mrs. Dunn, I think you did a fine job. I especially like the October spread,” the pig said, beaming.

Everyone turned to October and there was Earnest and his pumpkin.

They let out another collective sigh.

Harry the llama retuned to the conversation. “The calendar sales help all of us. You should be thankful, not jealous, especially as we are entering the season of thanks and giving,” said the llama. “Just the other day, I was visiting the elder home and so many of our friends there wish they could just be in their own homes, but they can’t. And here are all of you, safe and happy, in your home.”

Everyone grew silent.

Hannah raised her hand, “Harry, why do the old people leave their homes then?”

“They can’t care for themselves anymore. They don’t want to leave their homes,” said Harry.
“I feel their sadness when I’m there, they carry their old homes inside and I can feel their sadness.”

Hannah started to cry. Earnest the pig put his arm around her.

“We have to bring the old people here, to live in our barn!” Hannah cried.

“Hannah, they can’t live here, they would fall and trip and they would be cold in your barn,” said Earnest the pig.

“It’s not fair,” she said.

“Life is not for sissies, Hannah,” said Poetry, the stoic old goat. “And neither is getting old.”

Hannah raised her hand again and asked Harry, “What do you do when you are with the old people?”

“I stand honourably by them, and listen,” said the llama.

“Do they talk to you?” asked Pickles.

“Yes, some do, some just pet me or watch me.” Harry said. “My job is to make them feel noticed. They are not invisible to me as they are to many people.”

“This is why Harry’s on the cover–he understands that sitting with an old person and listening is often more helpful than all the medicine in the world,” I said.

“I hope to play Bingo with them soon,” said Harry.

And everyone, including me, yelled, “Bingo!”

{The 2024 Apifera Farm calendar is now available at the online shop and all sales go to Apifera}

Mrs. Dunn has a garden hose in her body

 Today’s post is graciously written by Earnest the Pig. Mrs. Dunn edited his copy to ensure it was accurate. This is her latest from her monthly column Tails & Tales.

It felt like a usual morning. The sun rose, the rooster crowed, the dogs barked. But when I heard the front door of the house open, and close, I didn’t hear the sounds indicating Mrs. Dunn was coming with my breakfast.

And in fact, my breakfast did not come as usual. Nor did anyone else’s.

“Earnest, where is Mrs. Dunn?” asked Pickles.

Hannah came running out to the conversation.

“Is she dead?” she cried.

“Oh child, she’s not dead. I saw her leave early this morning with Mister Dunn,” said Poetry the wise elder goat.

“Maybe she found Her Imaginary House By The Sea and she’s left for good,” said Puddles, always one to create some angst.

“Mrs. Dunn would not abandon us,” said Auntie Bea, another elder goat.

Just then, we heard the familiar sound of a truck pull in, and then the front gate slid open and there was Mrs. Dunn. We all ran to the gate to greet her.

“You really are alive!” said little Hannah, near tears.

“It seems I am,” said Mrs. Dunn. “I had to go the hospital to have a procedure, but everything is fine,” she said, as she began to get our breakfast.

I put my arm around her, and said, “Mrs. Dunn, are you really okay?”

The animals all stood in silence, waiting for Mrs. Dunn to answer. “Earnest, I’m fine. I had what they call a routine screening colonoscopy.”

The newly arrived baby goat, Pancakes, jumped up on Mrs. Dunn and asked, “What is a color house copy?

“Colonoscopy. Well, it’s like a hose that’s coiled up in my body, and it takes the food I eat out of my body,” Mrs. Dunn said. “They use a magnifying glass to make sure it’s healthy.”

I grabbed the garden house and coiled it up on the ground, and then drew a body. I explained to everyone how our food is digested and the leftovers have to come out.

“A human colon is about five feet long,” I told them. “That’s a little shorter than Mrs. Dunn.

Everyone gasped, including Mrs. Dunn.

“But where does the food go,” asked Pickles.

“Well, it gets made into poop, and then you poop,” Mrs. Dunn said.

“So let me get this straight,” said Puddles. “Mrs. Dunn has a five foot long garden hose inside her body and it makes poop?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Dunn and I said in unison.

Hannah screamed.

“But your color house copy is okay, it’s not sick?” Hannah asked.

“My colonoscopy was normal, and it’s okay,” Mrs. Dunn reassured Hannah.

Mrs. Dunn returned to the house and we all enjoyed our breakfast. We were happy Mrs. Dunn was in fact alive and that her garden hose was healthy.

“So, if Mrs. Dunn has a garden hose in her body, does she have other stuff, like shovels?” asked Puddles.

And Hannah ran to the barn crying.

Ruthie the turkey's great egg dream

 

My latest from the Tails & Tales series. If you like my writing which is always free to you, you can support in any quantity when at this link. 

“Mrs. Dunn, it’s day 25! Did the turkey have any chicken babies yet?” asked Pickles.

It all started back in late spring. Ruthie, the resident turkey, had been laying eggs as usual, and I collected them each morning. After weeks of laying, she stopped laying, which is normal, but there was one egg left in her nest and she wouldn’t leave it. I decided to let her set on her egg. I knew the chance that a passing Tom turkey had stopped in for a romantic evening was highly unlikely, even though we do have them passing by in the back woods. Knowing the egg was likely unfertilized, I played along, thinking she’d eventually leave her nest to return to normal life. But part of me wondered, maybe she knows something I don’t.

After 30 days, I said to Ruthie, “There’s no baby in your egg. You need to move on, Ruthie. I’m sorry.”

She said not a peep.

The next day, I arrived at the barn, and there was Ruthie, sitting on her empty nest. Except it was not empty, she had dragged a graham cracker into the nest to set on.

“Oh Ruthie,” I said. There’s no baby in the graham cracker either.”

She seemed unfazed and sat tight.

This went on for days. I had hoped she would give up on her nest but she didn’t. So I visited the hens and politely asked if I might take some of their eggs, knowing they were possibly fertilized.

“Excuse me? You want to my prodigy to be raised by a turkey?” asked one of the roosters.

The hens flocked together in an uproar of clucks. Everyone gathered to see what was going on.

“Rooster! Only I have control over my eggs!” said the lead hen. More clucking.

“Ruthie seems so intent on being a mother,” I said.

Earnest the pig stepped in. “Hen, I can vouch for Ruthie, I think she would be a fine mother.”

“I will get you more mealy worms,” I told the hens, as I knew they swooned over them.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said the hen, and she gave over some eggs. Earnest and I took them to Ruthie and placed them under her in the nest.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dunn. Earnest, would you like my graham cracker, Mrs. Dunn says it has no chance of becoming a baby,” said Ruthie.

“Thank you,” and he ate it in one bite.

Well, 35 days went by, well past the usual 21 days to hatch chicks.

“Ruthie, it wasn’t meant to be this time. I’m sorry,” I said, and I took the eggs away.

The next morning as I entered the barn, Earnest the pig sat with his arm around Ruthie as she sat on her empty nest.

I reached under her and there were some rocks. “Ruthie, rocks can’t have babies,” I said gently.

“I know, but I’m practicing for spring,” she said.

The animals discover The Lupine Lady

 

“Mrs. Dunn, can you read us a story before you go?” asked Hannah.

I was just finishing chores on a very hot afternoon and was looking forward to a shower.

“I don’t have a book out here,” I said as I tried to escape to the house.

Pickles the goat suddenly appeared before me, with a book.

“We really like this one, Mrs. Dunn,” she said. “Miss Rumphius.”

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

“We have hidden library bucket in the hay loft,” she said.

Who knew?

A circle formed around me of goats, chickens, Earnest the pig and of course, The Goose.

“Donkeys! She’s going to read Miss Rumphius!” Pickles called out to the pasture.

Running hoof steps were heard, and they joined the circle around me.

And so I started to read the story of a little girl who promised herself she’d travel to far off places, and someday live by the sea. And she made a third promise–to make the world a more beautiful place. The girl grows up and travels to many places, and eventually she finds a house by the sea. In time she finds the way to make good on that third promise-by spreading lupine seed all around the land and on the roads nearby. People began to call her the Lupine Lady.

I closed the book and asked everyone, “Did you know the Lupine Lady lived not far from here, in Christmas Cove?”

Everyone gasped.

“Can we visit her?” asked Hannah the young goat.

Earnest put his arm around her, “She’s not alive, Hannah.”

“The Lupine Lady is already dead! I just met her!” Hannah cried.

“Such a sensitive sprite,” said Poetry the old goat.

“Mrs. Dunn, have you been to far off places?” asked Pickles.

“As a young woman I travelled all over,” I said. “But I always wanted a farm. It took a lifetime, but I got one, and all of you.”

“Will you ever have a house by the sea, like Miss Rumphius?” asked Hannah.

“We could all have boats!” said Pickles, “and row about all day.”

“It would be wonderful, wouldn’t it, summering on the sea? But there’s no money for a house by the sea. Sometimes dreams are just dreams, and how could I leave you all while I was in the house by the sea?” I asked.

“We would all come with you! Could we have bunk beds?” asked Puddles.

“There will be no bunk beds because there will be no house by the sea,” I said.

“Let’s focus on Miss Rumphius encouraging us to put beauty into the world,” said the pig.

“Is leaping off rocks beautiful? It’s mainly what I do,” said Pickles.

“I put my poems up in trees for the birds to read,” said Paco the poet donkey.

“I am simply beautiful just standing in the wind,” said The Goose.

Hannah started crying again.

“Child, what is it now?” asked Earnest the pig.

“I still can’t believe Miss Rumphius is dead,” she wailed.

“She lives in the lupines,” I said.

The old donkey wanted to be a tree....and...

Peso wanted to be a tree, holding a bird's nest, for Halloween. I think he did a sweet job of it.

You can read all about Earnest's celebration of the dead, and other Halloween-ish antics from the barnyard, over at Tails & Tales monthly short story publication [it's free].

We lost one of our eldest cats, Inky this week. He was 22 or so and had come to us many years ago from the shelter, after his owners died. There was some trauma in the house in the end and I do not know how much of it Inky saw. He was always stoic and friendly, never pushy with the others and liked to ride on my shoulders. He had a good death with Catfish looking on, wrapped in a polk-a-dot blankie in front of the heater. I buried him under the lilacs along with so many others.

There is often a shift that occurs after a death in the herd or cat room. Inky always slept, for the past few months anyway, in a basket on one of the perches. He chose to stay on the ground in his final few days, but nobody claimed his basket. Then this morning, I saw that Francine was sleeping there. The empath in me wants to think she waited for the energy to shift, to give Inky time to leave, and to respect his space. I'll stick to that story.

Wisdom of the Old Donkey {latest from from Tails & Tales}

 “No!!!” I heard a little voice screaming.

What on Earth, I thought.

As I entered the barn, Earnest the pig had his arm around little Hannah the goat, who was crying. This is a very common scene, as Hannah is very sensitive and not very savvy at her young age. She is easily fooled by the pranksters of the group-you know, Pickles and Puddles.

“They ate my pumpkin, Mrs. Dunn! They killed her and ate her!” Hannah cried into my overhauls.

I could see shadowy figures in the not so distant corner of the barn, pretending not to be there.

“Pickles! Puddles! Hop to it, over here, right now!” I said.

“I know nothing!” said Pickles.

“You do too!” said Puddles.

“But Mrs. Dunn, the pumpkin was already mushy and dead because the squash bugs got it first,” pleaded Pickles.

Hannah screamed some more into my overhauls.

“It’s true, Mrs. Dunn. I saw the little pumpkin yesterday. The bugs were on her and eating her up," said Earnest the pig.

More screaming from Hannah.

“Hannah, this is all part of Nature’s way. Nature gives us bounties, and other parts of Nature take it away,” I said.

Ollie the goat, always cheerful no matter what the occasion, came running up to little Hannah. “It’s just like when you eat your hay, Hannah. Nature turns it into something else in your stomach and then you poop and the worms eats it!”

“You mean the bugs are going to poop my pumpkin out?” Hannah cried.

“Well, I guess in a way they are,” said Earnest the pig.

Hannah went running off to her favorite tree, crying, “I will never eat or drink again in honor of my pumpkin.”

“Let her be,” I said. And we all went about our morning.

Around mid day, Earnest and I wandered out to see Hannah, who was still under her tree.

“Hannah, that is a nice little pumpkin you’re holding,” said Earnest the pig.

“It’s my pumpkin’s sister. I’ll never let her die,” said Hannah, still sniffling.

“Death is like a moon that doesn’t see the sun come up, that’s all,” said a slow talking voice. It was Peso, the new arrival. He was a very, very old donkey, the oldest donkey that had ever lived on the farm.

Peso came closer to Hannah. “Hannah, your little pumpkin got to live her life in her field, unencumbered by the man made world. Nobody carved her up and stuck candles in her, or slung her from a cannon, she just got to be a simple, beautiful, humble fruit breathing in the sun on her Earth,” Peso said. Hannah stopped crying.

Just then, Poetry the eldest of the old goats called out, “The Queen is dead!” and everyone rushed to the rabbit ear television I’d finally put in the barn for them.

“She was my favorite Queen!” cried Hannah.

“Mine too, Hannah,” I said. “Were’t we lucky to have had her though?” I asked.

Hannah shook her head, yes, pressing into my overhauls again. “She would have liked my pumpkin, I’m sure of it.”

Old goat's view of death...in honor of Dorphy

I heard the voice of Earnest the pig, talking to me through a cracked window in the living room.

“Mrs. Dunn, you are needed in the barn...now. Dorphy has to talk to you,” said Earnest.

When I got to the barn, I could tell something was off. It was silent, but then I heard a bleat from a goat–it was Dorphy, one of the elders.

“Mrs. Dunn, today is my day,” the old goat said.

Dorphy was lying in one of the smaller rooms of the barn, a normal gathering spot for the animals in the front barn. The Goose was close by. I had noticed The Goose was staying close to Dorphy in the last months and I knew what that usually means–an animal is ill or transitioning. I had seen it over and over-he gravitates to the needy, and watches over them if needed. He did this with Birdie the llama, the old pig, the cancer ridden dogs and many goats. I learned right away that The Goose was a very good  hospice caretaker. The night before, I noticed Dorphy walking very slowly to the barn, with The Goose walking slwoly with her.

“It’s a good die to go,” said the old goat Poetry.

“I think so,” said Dorphy.

Hannah came running over to Dorphy.

“Where are you going?” the little youngster asked.

“I am dying today,” Dorphy said.

“Mrs. Dunn, Dorphy is dying!” Hannah cried.

“Child, do not cry for me, smile for me. I have all I need here, and I will have all I need there,” said the old goat.

“You mean...you’re going to Here There Everywhere?” asked Hannah.

“That’s right,” said Dorphy.

“Well that’s different. That’s were White Dog is,” said Hannah.

“And Birdie the llama! And my mama!” said Ollie the goat.

“Are you scared?” asked Puddles the goat.

“Well, it is the unknown. But it feels more like a trip, an adventure...” said the old goat.

“I think of death thay way too, Dorphy,” I said. “I guess the only thing is I can’t share it with anyone left behind. I can’t wite a story about it, or paint a picture.”

“But isn’t that the beauty of it?” asked Earnest the pig. “It is all yours, and yours alone.”

I spent the morning in the barn, finding little chores to do so I could look in on Dorphy every so often. She was in and out of sleep, and in time, the sleep was taking over. Earnest the pig was nearby, writing in his journal, Pickles and Puddles were chasing flies, the rooster was crowing and Henneth the blind chicken was sitting on her nest attempting to lay an egg. Life was all around us.

Dorphy suddenly perked up out of sleep and said, “It’s like falling asleep while your family and friends are still laughing and talking in the living room. It’s like a lullabye. It’s like leaving the party first, that’s all.” And she lay her head down, and died.
 

Hannah sees an...alien?

{My latest for Tails & Tales column}

 

 “Mrs. Dunnnnnn! Come now, come now!” Pickles screamed through the window.

I dropped everything and ran out the door, and Pickles was rushing back to the barn.

“Hurry, Mrs. Dunn! It’s Marta!” she screamed.

Marta is one of the hens. She is a very special hen and we refer to her as the Pirate Hen, because even though she is a tiny Bantie breed, she doesn’t let anybody, even the rooster, push her around. She stays to herself, foraging far from the flock.

As I got to the barn, all the goats were huddled in one of the side rooms where the hens lay their eggs. From the look of some of their faces, it appears they had just seen a ghost.

“Are they aliens?” asked Ollie.

“Aliens?!” said little Hannah, and she went running to stand near Earnest the pig for comfort.

“Oh, little Hannah, those aren’t aliens, they are baby chicks,” said Earnest the pig.

“They must have been slimed!” Ollie said.

“They just came out of the egg,” I said. “Marta will get them all dry and fluffy, don’t worry.”

About 3 weeks ago, Marta got broody–she started sitting on any eggs that were laid and she clearly wanted to hatch some babies. I knew Marta would be a fierce mother and protector, so I allowed her to keep 4 eggs, and marked them. Every day, I picked up the fresh, unmarked eggs, and Marta sat and incubated the nest.

“How did they get in the egg?” asked Hannah, still a novice about life and death.

“We’ve been through this, Hannah,” I said. “The rooster fertilizes the eggs while the eggs are still in the hen’s body, and then they turn into chickens.”

Hannah looked confused.

“In other words, Hannah, the rooster–without asking permission–has mad, passionate love with the hen in order to show them he is in charge and wants to continue creating children he won’t care for,” said Henneth the blind hen.

Paulo Steadman, the rooster, strutted by, cackling. “That’s rather harsh,” he said, “but it’s true, I have no interest in rearing them.”

“So the baby is in the egg, inside the hen, and then what happens?” Hannah asked.

“Then the egg comes out her bottom!” said Pickles.

“Well, it’s not her real bottom, it’s just...down there,” said Earnest the pig.

Marta stood up to stretch, and sure enough, the little slimy chicks were now dry and fluffy.
“I would appreciate some quiet, I have three more eggs to keep warm and safe, so please
give us some privacy,” said Marta.

“Why don’t I have eggs?” Hannah asked.

“You do,” said Earnest the pig.

Hannah started crying. “I don’t want any chickens coming out down below!”

“You can’t have chickens, Hannah, you’re a goat,” I said. “And you need a boy goat to make baby goats inside you,” I said.

“Ollie’s a boy!” said Hannah.

“He’s a special boy, he can’t make babies,” I said.

“Can you make baby people, Mrs. Dunn?” Pickles asked.

“Not any more,” I said.

“You’re special too!” said Hannah.

The Great Porta Potty Scheme

 “It’s here!” Pickles screamed.

All the animals were gathered by the front privacy fence. Hannah, the smallest of the goats, was on her knees, her head positioned under the gate so she could see the driveway.

“What’s it look like, Hannah?” asked Pickles.

“It’s a big ugly box,” Hannah said.

“Why would anyone want to poop in an ugly box?” asked Ollie the goat.

I entered the discussion, “I assume the porta potty arrived?”

“Mrs. Dunn, might I be able to see the inside of it?” asked Earnest the pig.

I sighed, “Alright, Earnest, go investigate, we’ll wait here for you.”

With that, the pig wandered over to the big box. You could have heard a pin drop amongst the animals as they watched from the fence.

“I’m going in,” said Earnest.

The animals’ eyes grew wide with wonder.

Minutes passed, and the pig slowly backed out of the big box. Before he spoke, everyone had gathered tightly around him, as if he was going to tell a really good ghost story.

“There is a seat with a large hole in it,” Earnest said.

They all looked bewildered.

“That is where the people sit down,” I explained. “It’s like a chair, with a hole in it.”

“But how does the poop get out of their pants?” asked Pickles.

“They drop their pants,” I said.

Everyone gasped again.

“Good grief,” said Poetry, one of the elder goats, “Is it too much to squat over some nice grass?”

“Our elder guests that come visit need a safe place to sit and...”

“Poop?” asked Pickles.

“Exactly,” I said.

“How big is the inside of the box, Earnest?” asked Puddles, one of the youngster goats.

“Well I’m not good with mathematical dimensions, but I’d say I could get about ten of me in there,” said the pig.

As I started back to the house, I noticed Pickles and Puddles deep in thought.

Oh no, I thought, I know that look.

Sometime that evening as I did dishes, I noticed what I thought was a very large firefly out the window. It was moving about near the porta potty. I cracked the window and heard a little voice say, in a whisper,

“That’s ten, keep going!”

As I arrived at the porta potty, I could hear muffled giggles.

“You’re on my head,” said little Hannah.

As I opened the door, a flashlight shone in my face, and I felt like I’d stepped into an old Hayley Mills movie. There before me were a bunch of little goats stacked into the porta potty, and Pickles was front and center, Puddles at her side.

I thought everyone had made it out and back to the barn, but Puddles was missing. I found him still in the porta potty, dropping rocks into the big hole.

“Mrs. Dunn, it makes a big kerplunk sound!” said Puddles.

“Yes it does, Puddles,” I said.

“Does the poop kerplunk too, Mrs. Dunn?” he asked.

“Yes, yes it does,” I said.

Tails & Tales column: The Great Bean Fiasco

As I ventured into the barnyard, I noticed all the goats, and Earnest the pig, standing out in a freshly tilled area of the yard. Earnest had dirt encrusted on his snout, so it appears he had been the lead tiller which he is very good at.

“Pickles, you have the string all knotted up in your feet, and it needs to be straight so our rows will be tidy!” said Poetry, one of the old goats.

As Pickles did her best to make a straight string line, little Hannah followed behind her, plopping in
seeds in the dirt, tasting one every so often.

“You can’t taste them yet, they haven’t grown up yet!” said Poetry, clearly trying to be in charge.

“But they especially delicious,” said Hannah.

“What’s going on here?” I asked. “I thought we agreed you would only be growing pumpkins and sunflowers with my supervision this year?”

Everyone suddenly looked very guilty.

“Mrs. Dunn, it’s my fault. I love green beans. I found your seed packets in the feed room and...I took them,” he said.

“How did you get in the secured feed room?” I asked.

“Pickles,” the pig said.

“And how did Pickles get in the secured feed room?” I asked.

“She stood on me!” said Ollie the tallest goat. “Then she banged her head on the door over and over.”

“Works every time,” said Pickles.

My mind raced, remembering all the times I was sure I had put something in the feed room and couldn’t find it.

“Okay, look, what you did was wrong. But since you are planting the seeds for the good of everyone here, I will forgive you. But I’m not going to tend the bean garden, you will all have to do that on your own,” I said as I walked away.

“It’s just a bunch of beans,” said Pickles. “They have so much food in the house and Mrs. Dunn says her pants don’t fit so good anymore so I don’t know why she needs beans.”

“I heard that Pickles!” I said as I closed the door.

A few hours later I returned to the barnyard to do night time chores. It was eerily calm.  Earnest the pig appeared at the barn door.

“Mrs. Dunn, we decided not to  plant your seeds. I’m sorry we took them. I just love green beans, almost as much as grilled cheese sandwiches,” the pig said.

“It’s okay Earnest. I shouldn’t deny you something you love so much. Life is short, we should relish the bounties of earth, including beans,” I said. “Why don’t you and I go get the beans and plant them together?’

“I like that idea,” he said. He led me to his special corner where he often hid special possessions.
“They’re gone!” he said.

“I didn’t do it!” said Pickles.

“Me either!” said Puddles.

“Not I!” said Ollie.

Just then little Hannah wandered in. “Are there any more of those beans? They are especially delicious!”

Pickles scathingly brilliant idea, again

{My latest piece for Tails & Tales for LCNME}

Teddy, a Great Pryenees, was recently adopted by Apifera from a rescue in Virginia. He was well suited to make visits into the elder homes, and he is a natural with the elders. His arrival to the farm also helped Mrs. Dunn, who was mourning the recent death of White Dog, the farm’s beloved Maremma.

“What do you do when you’re there, Teddy?” asked little Hannah the goat. Teddy and I had just returned from visiting our elder friends at Cove’s Edge.

“I stand, and they talk to me, and they hold me,” said Teddy.

“Did you know White Dog?” asked Pickles the goat.

“Yes, but we never met. He was working in his current realm to help me find Mrs. Dunn,” said Teddy.

“Mrs. Dunn stopped crying when you came!” said Puddles the goat.

“It’s true, Teddy has helped my heart, he is a gift from White Dog,” I said.

“Mrs. Dunn, what’s it like at the old people’s home? Do they have a barn there?” asked Pickles.

“No, I’m afraid not, they have lots of windows and bird feeders outside the windows, and stuffed toy cats,” I said.

“No goats?!” asked Pickles.

“No chickens?!” asked Marta an old hen.

Earnest the pig sauntered over to the conversation, “It’s sad they can’t have animals, but there isn’t enough staff to care for the people, let alone the animals.”

The animals all sat somberly, except for some cud chewing by the goats.

“Imagine, a home without animals?” said little Hannah the goat.

Suddenly, Pickles leapt up and said, “I have the most scathingly brilliant idea!”

“You were watching old Haley Mills movies again, weren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes! So we can be the animal staff! We’re animals, so of course we know how to take care of animals!” said Pickles.

“I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Pickles,” I said. “First off, you’d have to have a place to put the animals there.”

“Mr. Dunn can help us build a barn,” said Puddles.

“He has too many jobs already,” I said.

“We’ll get him more pizza from Oysterhead,” said Ollie the goat.

“Let’s just say Mr. Dunn could help, you’d still have to drive there to care for the animals,” I said.

“So what?” asked Pickles.

“You don’t drive,” I said calmly.

“Oh, I have that figured out. Harry the llama will use his legs on the pedals and I’ll sit on Harry’s lap and use my front legs on the wheel. Earnest says that’ll work,” said Pickles.

“It’s true, Mrs. Dunn, I saw it in an old Western movie,” said Earnest the pig.

Lord help us, and me, I thought.

I continued with chores, in ear shot of the little masterminds in the barn.

“I think we should get three chickens so they can have eggs, and one goat, and a cat,” said Pickles.

“And some frogs!” said Ollie.

I chimed in, “How about a pony to pull them in their wheelchairs?”

“Mrs. Dunn, that is scathingly brilliant!” said Pickles.

I so wish it could all come true, I thought.

Pickles learns what peace is

 “What’s wrong with Mrs. Dunn?” I heard Pickles ask Earnest the Pig.

“She’s feeling upside down today” said Earnest.

“Upside down? That sounds dreadful,” said Poetry, one of the old goats. “It would give me gas.”

“Mrs. Dunn, what does it feel like to be upside down?” Pickles asked me as she jumped up on the rock next to me.

“Out of sorts,” I said.

“But it’s your birthday!” squeeled Pickles. Suddenly everyone broke out in a very disjointed version of the birthday song and despite my upside downess, it did bring a smile to my face.

“Are you feeling old, is that it?” asked Earnest the pig.

“Not really,” I said.

“How old are you, Mrs. Dunn?” asked Hannah, who was one.

“Sixty four,” I said.

“Oh my Lord, that is very old,” said Poetry the old goat. “You must not have long to go.”

“Humans live longer than goats,” explained Earnest.

“That’s even older than that ancient turtle that was in National Geographic,” said Pickles.

“I am moving as slow as turtle today,” I said. “Sometimes, you just have to be with your upside down feelings, even if it’s your birthday,” I said.

“When I get upside down, I close my eyes and think of the things that I can do to make it a better world,” said Earnest. “Like write a sonnet, or a poem of love.”

“That’s very nice, Earnest, and very wise. But the world needs more than I can give it right now,” I said.

The donkeys had slowly made their way across the field to join the conversation.

“Mrs. Dunn is upside down,” Pickles told the donkeys.

“Oh dear, being upside down is a dreadful state” Paco the poet donkey said.

“Just sit with me,” I said. And they did. “I am grateful we are all here, and not in danger in Ukraine. Those poor people, those poor animals,” I said. “If I could have one birthday gift today, it would be peace, and I would give it to Ukraine.”

Pickles leapt to action, and Hannah followed.

“Where are we going, Pickles?!” Hannah asked.

“We must find “peace” and get it to Mrs. Dunn,” said Pickles.

“Oh, little Pickles,” Earnest the pig said, “I’m afraid “peace” is not an object to be found, it is something one grows in one’s heart, and it goes out into the world through peaceful actions.”

“Why is that man hurting the people and animals?”  asked little Hannah.

“He has no heart,” I said.

“Then how will he grow any peace inside of him if he has no heart?” Pickles asked.

“He won’t,” said Earnest the pig. “He won’t.”

Hannah cried. Then Pickles cried. I cried too.

Old Matilda, the very old matriarch donkey cleared her throat to speak. Everyone stopped crying, as Matilda rarely spoke but when she did it was always with wise, motherly love.

“We must visualize the mothers and children and animals and elders surrounded with sunflowers,” she said.

And we did.

Earnest the Pig helps us understand what "hope" is...

 {My latest from my Tails & Tales column for the Lincoln County News}

 

I was leaving to get some errands done when I heard lots of chatter in the front barn. One learns to check in on such activity to make sure nothing is amiss–and it often is.

“Oh I want green beans, the stringless variety,” said Earnest the pig. “And of course, put me down for some large pumpkins too.”

“How many rows will 1000 beat seeds be?” said Ollie the goat.

My curiosity was on high alert as I looked down at the catalogue everyone was gathered around.

“Burpee’s Seed Catalogue,” I read out loud.

“Oh, Mrs. Dunn, the joy of dreaming of spring in February,” said Poetry, one of the old goats. “Makes my bones and joints hurt less just thinking about it.”

“I plan to grow only lettuce this year,” said The Goose. “I am getting different varieties but want a lot of Buttercrunch...so tender.”

“Mrs. Dunn, what are you getting?” asked Pickles.

“A back ache, thinking of all these garden beds. I can’t take care of all your beds, I have my own to tend,” I said.

“We’ve got a scathingly brilliant plan, Mrs. Dunn,” said Pickles.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.

“We have talked to the chickens who will have grub duty, Earnest will till the rows, me and Puddles will be in charge of harvesting,” said Pickles.

“That is scathingly brilliant,” I said, doing a quick and tiny eye roll. “What if we just stick to pumpkins and sunflowers for you guys?”

Everyone stopped for a minute, some chewing on their cud as they pondered this new development.

“I really had my heart set on a green bean casserole–you know the kind your grandmother made, with mushroom sauce and shaved almonds, and crunched up potato chips on the top?” said Earnest the pig.

I’ll get you an Oysterhead Pizza instead,” I said.

“Fair enough, I like the shaved Brussels sprout one,” the pig said.

“I really like beets,” said Ollie, “especially the tops.”

“I always plant way too many beets and you’ll get some of mine,” I said. “So we’ll order sunflowers and pumpkins, okay?”

I started to walk away, and noticed Earnest the pig gazing out to the fields.

“It’s all about hope,” said Earnest. “In the middle of winter, the little seeds are under ground in the cold and dark. And even though we can’t see them, they are busy percolating, getting ready to be born. Imagine, living deep in the ground, hearing the winter storms above you for months...it takes courage to believe everything is as it should be and will evolve into what it will be. That is hope.”

The animals had gathered around Earnest, and had listened intently to his wisdom.

“Earnest, do you ever lose hope that winter will end?” asked Pickles.

“Well, I do love winter, but some winters are especially bleak, and relentless, and sometimes I feel
I’m losing hope,” Earnest said.

“What do you do then?” asked Pickles.

“I read the seed catalogue,” Earnest said.

The Animals and their Great Heated Bus Idea

 

I was minding my own business, putzing by the firewood pile, when a familiar voice asked,

“Mrs. Dunn, can we have the old oven?”

It was Pickles, of course. If you follow along, and heaven help you if you do, you will know the animals have been trying to get me to allow a baking oven in the barn. Of course, we all know as charming as it would be to have a bunch of short bodied goats, a pig and some fowl baking cookies, it would most certainly end in a disaster.

“No,” I said firmly.

“What if we kept it outside and used matches and firewood to get it warm?” asked Ollie the goat.

My mind envisioned the forest on fire and animals and firemen running everywhere.

“NO, “ I said, more firmly.

They both walked off, heads down, grumbling.

Later that day, I entered the barn to start nightly chores. The gang wasn’t as animated as usual, except little Hannah who is young enough that every second of the day is worthy of joy.

“You all look down and out,” I said.

“We don’t have a way to share our love with the elder peoples,” said Pickles.

We found out recently that due to the pandemic, we were restricted again from bringing animals into Cove’s Edge, and it was too cold for the residents to visit outside, which is still allowed.

“If we had an oven we could bake them cookies, and giant heart shaped cakes,” said Ollie.

Earnest arrived. He sat next to me, he seemed deep in thought.

“We need a bus, a heated bus, with a ramp,” Earnest said as he handed me an ad for one of those old hippie buses, the kind I saw as a young girl out west. There was a price tag of $50,000 on it.

“That’s a lot of money, Earnest,” I said.

“Mrs. Dunn, a bus! We can roll them in and have music on the radio,” said Pickles.

And they all started chanting, “Heated bus! Heated bus!”

“We could drive our friends to the village and look in the pretty shop windows,” said old Poetry the goat.

“Perhaps, Mrs. Dunn, we could stop at Oysterhead Pizza too,” said Earnest the pig.

“I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to stop at Eider’s for your beloved grilled cheese sandwich with cucumbers,” I said.

“I’m currently hankering for the crust of pizza, wood fired just right,” Earnest said.

“Mrs. Dunn, how much is $50,000?” Hannah asked.

“It’s many, many, many ones,” I said. “And it would take all of you years to raise it.”
Keep your hearts open, gather some things and I will drop them off for our elder friends,” I said.

The next day, Earnest the pig brought me a bucket with three goose feathers, one brown egg and     
some hay twine. A note said, “For our friends, until we get a bus. Love, Pickles and friends”.

“Here’s a $100 bill, Mrs. Dunn, for the bus,” the pig said. “I’ll bring more when I can.”

The animals and I pay tribute to Polly, who has given us snowflakes

 “Mrs. Dunn! Polly sent us the snow flakes!”

It was Pickles the goat, running in joy as I came out for the morning feedings.

I was taken aback. I had just found out myself in a morning email that our loyal volunteer, Polly, had died the night before. She had stage four lung cancer.

I stood silently, the snowflakes falling all around me, as the goats gathered at my feet. I looked at the sky and thought to myself, it is something Polly would do.

“Mrs. Dunn, Polly said she sent the snow so you can put the Christmas bells on the ponies and let them run around in the snow,” Pickles said.

I have been asking for snow, I thought.

Earnest the pig sauntered up to us.

“She was spunky, I liked her,” he said.

“She was kind. She put her arms around me,” said the quiet voice of the very old sheep, Calla.

“Remember when I got to pull her around the barnyard? That was so fun!” said Ollie, the biggest of the goats.

Ollie was referring to a visit here at the farm when some of our elder friends came to be with the animals, and Polly was there to help. I handed her a lead rope, which was attached to Ollie the goat, and told her she was in charge of him. Polly was a petite person, Ollie is about 120 pounds. As I went about helping the elder people, I looked around and there was Ollie pulling Polly around the orchard, showing her every blade of grass and all the apple trees he loved. But Polly had a smile on her face the entire time.

The snow continued to fall.

“Polly is free now,” said Auntie Bea, one of the old goats.

“What does that mean?” said little Hannah the goat.

“She is without a body,” said Auntie Bea, stoically.

“She lost her whole body?!” Hannah cried, and Pickles gasped.

“You don’t need your body forever, Hanna. You just need it here on Earth. But remember how you learned about Here There Everywhere? That is where Polly is and she needs no body for that,” said Earnest the pig.

“Polly is free of pain, Hannah. Her body hurt,” I said.

“Polly doesn’t hurt? This is excellent news then!” said Pickles the goat.

Pickles took Hannah and they ran around in circles in the fluffy dusting on the ground.

I headed to the outer barn to feed the horses and ponies. Harry the llama came over to me, his white fur dusted in flakes. Polly often helped me when we took Harry to visit our elder friends at Cove’s Edge.

“Harry, Polly died last night,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “She told me.”

I watched White Dog roll in the snow. White Dog got his snow, I thought.

I put the Christmas bells on the ponies, and off they ran in the snow, bells jingling. It was pure joy.

“Thank you, Polly,” I said.

 

{A video of the ponies running with their bells will be on Instagram later this evening.}

The animals worry about the demise of a tree...the annual drama

{My latest Tales & Tails column for The Lincoln County News}

I heard the slow shuffle of donkey feet as I left house.

Paco, I thought.

“Mrs. Dunn, I am concerned about the tree,” Paco said. “It is almost Thanksgiving.”

Every year, I have to reassure Paco that we’ll find the perfect tree in the woods well before Christmas.

“Paco, you need not worry, we will find one in plenty of time,” I said and we headed to the outer barn for his breakfast.

“I just need to get to the know the tree, so I can write a poem in honor of it’s demise,” he said, still concerned.

Just then, Pickles appeared out of nowhere, followed by Puddles and Hannah, and soon all the goats, old and young, joined us.

“Who had a demise?!” asked Poetry, one of the elder goats.

“What’s a demise?” asked little Hannah.

“A death,” said Earnest the pig who had wandered over hearing the commotion.

“Nobody has died!” I said.

“But we are going to kill a tree, so I must prepare a poem for him or her, to honor them,” said Paco.

Hannah began to cry. She had never had a Christmas tree since she was just born in the spring.

Earnest the pig consoled her, “Hannah, the trees have many purposes in life, and one is giving themselves to us so we can decorate them for Christmas.”

“But what if they have another purpose, like holding the squirrels and birds?”

“We always look for tiny trees, that aren’t strong enough to do that,” said Earnest.

Pickles gasped. “We kill the baby trees?!”

By this time we were to the outer barn, and all the horses and ponies and llamas were wondering what the big conversation was.

“Has something of importance occurred” asked Harry the llama.

Paco the donkey said very slowly, “I am worried about finding the tree in time, so I can write a worthy eulogy.”

“Ah yes, the annual tree crisis,” Harry said stoically.

George the goat appeared, eating something. George was always eating something. “The best part of Christmas is the tree, because I get to eat it after the holiday,” said George the goat.

Hannah started crying again.

“We could get one of those pink, fake trees with glitter, I saw one in “Sears and Roebuck”,” said Poetry.

How are they getting that catalog? I wondered.

“Sacrilege!” said Earnest the pig. “There will be no fake trees for Christmas!”

And then Boone, the mellow red horse, walked over.

“Everything we have to eat was once alive. Shall we stop cutting the grasses for our hay?”

Hannah screamed, “We kill grasses too?!”

Boone leaned down to Hannah and said, “My lass, we are in circular relationship with all of Nature. We poop on the grasses, and that feeds them. They thank us by growing tall, and then we eat them.”

Earnest the pig put his arm around Hannah, and Paco, “What do you say we all visit the trees, and share our poop with them?”

Pickles learns about Here, There & Everywhere

{I write a monthly Tails & Tales column for the local paper. This was this month's.}

“Goodbyes are hard, I don’t like them,” said young Hannah, the tiniest goat.

“Goodbyes hurt, so listen for the “hellos” that come your way,” said Auntie Bea, an old goat. “They help.”

We’d just found out that White Dog had bone cancer, with an estimate of a few months to live.

“He talks to the coyotes and tells them to stay away,” said Ollie the goat.

“He saved me from an eagle,” said Marta, one of the bantie hens.

White Dog is a Maremma, a breed that lives amongst the farm animals to protect them from predators.

“Mrs. Dunn, are you going to cry now?” asked Hannah the goat.

“I think so,” I said. “Every day, I see him in the field. And at night I see him as the moon rises. I can’t imagine not seeing him.”

Earnest the pig put his arm around me, and said, “I’ll still be here with you, Mrs. Dunn.”

And then Hannah cried, and Henneth the blind hen cried and that started all the hens crying, and soon all the goats were crying too. All that crying made White Dog come to the fence line to see what was happening.

“Are you okay?” asked White Dog.

“We’re sad because you have to leave us. Don’t go,” said Ollie the goat.

“Please stay,” said Pickles.

“It’s not up to me, or you. My body can’t keep up, so I have to let it go,” said White Dog.

“Where will you go?” asked Pickles.

“I will go everywhere, so I will still be over and around you,” said White Dog.

“Like the worms and dirt under our feet?” asked little Puddles the goat.

“Like the clouds?” asked little Hannah.

“Yes, exactly like that,” answered White Dog, stoically.

“That’s where Opie went!” said Pickles.

Earnest the pig got close to White Dog, and whispered to him,

“I’m sorry my tusks hurt you, White Dog. It was a misunderstanding,” said Earnest, referring to a run in over apples some months ago.

“It’s okay, the doctor stitched me up nicely,” said White Dog.

White Dog started to walk back to his tree as dusk and then the dark took hold.

“White Dog!” Pickles called out. “How will we know when you’re ready to go to the clouds?”

“I’m ready to go anytime,” he said, “But I’m waiting for you to understand I’m going to a place that’s here, there and everywhere.”

Pickles and Earnest walked together. “A place that is here, there and everywhere. It sounds really big,” Pickles said.

“That is why he can’t take his body, he needs to be light, like a feather, so he can ride clouds over the farm, or go anywhere,” the pig said.

Back at the barn, I got everyone settled for the night.

We could hear some coyotes far off in the woods. White Dog barked, and the coyote howls stopped soon after.

“Mrs. Dunn, are you crying again?” Hannah asked.

“Yes, she is,” said Earnest the pig.

Pickles to attend Earnest the Pig's Charm School

My latest story from Tails & Tales for the Lincoln County News

“I don’t want to,” said Pickles defiantly.

“That is not your decision at this juncture,” I told the little goat. “It is for the good of the barnyard.”

“But I was just using my Pickles Power,” she pleaded.

“When one has been given such power, one must use it with wisdom, and empathy for others,” said Earnest the pig.

Pickles the goat was turning one. And it had become clear to all of us that she had developed a bit of an  attitude. Her Pickles Power was going to her head. And that is why I told her that for the rest of the summer she would be going to charm school here at the farm.

“Charm school is for girly girls. I’m Pickles!” said the little goat.

“Who will teach Pickles all about charm?” asked Ollie.

Everyone turned to look at Earnest the pig. It was a no brainer.

“I will be teaching you about many things, Pickles-languages, music, cursive writing and how to enter a room and be noticed without being arrogant,” said Earnest.

I wonder if I can attend this, I thought.

“I know how to enter a room!” said Pickles. And she leaped and twisted and turned in the air. “Like that!”

“You can still leap and run, Pickles. You just need to learn how to not be so much of a ….” Earnest struggled for the right word.

“A bully,” I said.

This entire time the two baby goats that had recently arrived, Puddles and Hannah, were sitting quitely watching. They were often on the receiving end of too much Pickles Power, as were the elders.

“I like Pickles, but she hurts my feelings sometimes. She called me a squirt. I can’t help it if I’m extra small and nobdy wanted me on their farm,” said little Hannah, a bottle baby.

“We want you, Hannah” said Poetry, one of the elder goats.

“I’m afraid of Pickles sometimes,” said little Puddles, his head lowered.

Pickles suddenly looked very sad, and worried. She started to walk away from the group.

“Where are you going, Pickles, we aren’t done talking,” I said.

“Mrs. Dunn, I’m sad with myself. I thought I was just being me,” Pickles said.

“You were indeed being you, Pickles,” said Earnest the pig. “And with a bit of self awareness, you will use your Pickles Power for the good of others. You are young, that’s your ownly fault, there is much to grasp at your age.”

Puddles walked to Pickles and said, “It’ll be okay.” And Pickles head banged him in true goat fashion.

“I think this is a good place to start, Pickles,” said Earnest.

And he put his arm around the little goat and began to walk her to his hut. As he walked away I could hear him imparting his first wisdoms on her.

“Pickles, one’s physical strength is temporary. But the actions of our hearts is how we will be judged-for it shows how much we love.”

{Stay tuned this summer to see if Earnest’s Charm School can help Pickles and her Power}

 

Everyone is spuddling and the pig swoons over a poet

 

{The latest from my monthly Tails & Tales column for the county paper}

I entered the barn  to do chores and Pickles came running to me.

“Mrs. Dunn, we’ve been spuddling!” she declared, and she ran out to the barnyard.

I had no idea what that meant but figured it had to do with one of the new goat arrivals, who Pickles had named Puddles.

Pickles and Puddles came running in the barn, looking rather exhausted.

“Spuddling is hard,” said Puddles.

“I am not sure that is a word,” I said, as I mucked the stalls.

“Spuddle is a useful verb from the 17th century that means to work feebly and ineffectively, because your mind is elsewhere or you haven't quite woken up yet,” said Earnest the pig.

Well, if Earnest knows the word, it must be a word, I thought.

“Thank you, Earnest, it is most certainly a useful word,” I said.

“Do you spuddle?” asked Puddles.

“Often,” I said.

I fed the animals their hay and then sat a spell on a large boulder in the goat paddock. Puddles had been one of five newcomers to the farm that week. We brought home two more elder lady goats, including Puddle’s mother, and another little baby goat that needed a home that had lost her mother. Puddles called his mother Mrs. Puddles, not mama or mom or mother, but Mrs. Puddles out of respect.

“Mrs. Puddles, how are you today,” I asked.

“Just fine, it’s a nice day,” she said.

“Perfect for spuddling,” said Ollie the goat as he walked by.

“We can’t all spuddle at once or nothing will get done,” I said.

“I guess since my name is Puddles ,I’m a spuddled Puddles!” Puddles said.

Mrs. Puddles rolled her eyes.

“I think they will grow tired of this,” Earnest the pig whispered to me.

Just then one of the older goats, named Poetry, wandered over and took a seat next to me.

“I’m old. I don’t intend to spuddle, but it seems I spuddle more and more. It bothers me. But then, I forget I’m spuddling and it really doesn’t matter,” she said.

She was named Poetry because she came from a family of poets. She often could be heard reciting poems while all the others were falling off to sleep. Earnest the pig was charmed by Poetry.

“An older lady who recites Whitman at sunset is a fine lady indeed,” said Earnest with a sparkle in his eye.

I got up to get back to work.

“My spuddle time is over,” I said. “Spuddle on!”

That night, since it was so hot out, I was sitting in the garden in the dark, catching a light breeze from the cove. The fireflies were out. There was hardly a sound. But then I heard it, the sweet voice of an old goat, reciting the words of Whitman, and the gentle snoring of Earnest the pig.

Earnest and his free haircut day

 

“Mrs. Dunn! Mrs. Dunn!” the little voice said as I left the house for the barn. It was, of course, Pickles, the little goat full of Pickle power. 

 “Mrs. Dunn! Someone took all of Harry’s hair off! It must have been a very big rat.” 

I immediately knew she was referring to the newly sheared llamas. 

“Pickles, every year we shave the llamas, that’s all it is, no need to worry,” I said calmly as we walked to the barn. “Harry needs to be comfortable in the summer so we take his hair off.” 

Harry was in ear shot and walked over to us. Pickles looked him up and down. She touched his newly shorn body. 

“It’s so soft, like a baby bottom,” she said. When she had touched a baby bottom, I don’t know, but I had to much on my agenda to ask. 

I went about my chores in the outer barn and left Pickles to her day. I was just about to leave the house later that afternoon when Earnest the pig knocked on the door. 

“Mrs. Dunn, may I borrow an extension chord?” he politely asked. 

 Extension cord plus pig plus electricity, I thought. Hmmm. We walked to the barn together. 

“May I ask why you need a power cord, Earnest?” 

 “I’m giving free haircuts today,” he said, matter of factly. 

As we entered the barn there was a standing line of little goats and chickens near a sign– Earnest’s Haircuts free today! And there was my electric dog clipper. 

 “How did you get my clipper, Earnest? I keep it way up high in the feed room,” I asked. 

“I have a step ladder,” he said. Who knew? I thought. 

I was about to put an end to what would surely be a disastrous day of haircuts, but I stopped myself, and I thought of go-to mentor, Andy of Mayberry. What would Andy say? I thought a bit and said, 

 “Earnest, have you ever given a haircut?” 

“No,” said Earnest. 

The hens were getting restless as they stood in line. 

“A lady needs a new hair do every couple years,” said Victoria, one of the elder chickens. 

“I want a racing stripe down my back!” said Pickles. 

 “Can you do stripes?” asked Ollie the goat. 

As the first hen stood on a box Earnest had dragged in, I quietly stepped into the feed room and pulled the cord from the wall. Earnest turned on the shearer but it was silent. 

 “Oh dear, it must need some maintenance, Earnest.” I took it from him swiftly. “I need to add oil to it and we’ll get Mr. Dunn to examine it too.” 

Earnest looked a bit disappointed, as did the others in line. But Pickles appeared from the back of the line, and rushed up to Earnest. 

 “It’s okay! I found the scissors!” Pickles said. 

{PS: I confiscated the scissors and nobody lost a hair, or feather. But Earnest did ask me how one might attend beauty parlor school.}