Pistol Pete here -  you may remember me from some previous Frankly Speakings - I’m the spoiled brat goat who had to be neutered because I was a little too full of myself at the age of two.

Since I had my transition, I have been sitting at the hooves of the master, soaking up the Frankie-sense for the eventual take over of this blog.    I am so sad that my friend and mentor, Frankie, has passed away of natural causes, leaving his hay wench absolutely heart broken.  The antics of the baby goats do make her smile, but you can tell she’s not quite the same since her boy Frankie left her.

So, reporting on the ‘doings’ of farm life is now left to me.  For regular readers of frankly speaking, you’ll see a difference.  Frankie was the first angora goat on the farm.  He had a ‘presence’ all his own, and so, as the oldest child in the family, he had a lot to say and a definite opinion about all things farm.  I, on the other hand (or hoof), am the middle child, so I have a different outlook on things.  A little more pensive and observant than opinionated.

Here is what has been happening of late:  Fawntina is growing like a weed, and Pongo and Casper are not.  It’s curious how some goats stay tiny and some are monsters.  Pongo and Casper are twins born to Gracie and Slapshot.   Fawntina is a single birth to Gracie and Stymie.  I suppose you could just say that Gracie makes beautiful babies, and when she has two, they are a bit smaller.  They will most likely catch up to the other goats, but for now, are hanging out with Blueberry, who, at 5 years old is still a tiny little thing.  You might contribute Blueberry’s tiny-ness to her accident when she was a kid.  She put her head through the fence and got stuck.  When wench finally found her, she was almost dead, and it took several days for her to come back to normal!  She doesn’t try to sample the grass on the other side of the fence anymore.

That particular activity (sampling the grass on the other side of the fence) is left exclusively to Ruthie.  Ruthie, daughter of Annie who was the daughter of April who was the daughter of Naomi (all escape artists) thinks that the fence is merely a suggestion.  She pretty much comes and goes at her leisure, much to the chagrin of builder who spends a lot of time planting flowers and making the place look nice.  Flowers are pretty tasty, she tells me.  Builder thinks Ruthie would be pretty tasty, too, but wench put the ki-bosh on that thought, pretty quickly.

I try really hard to be kind.  We have a couple of teenager bucklings here that are not being so kind of late - brothers Thunder and Caruso.  I tried to tell them —- get a handle on it, buck-o, or you’ll end up getting neutered like I did. They didn’t listen, and so guess what? We now have wethers - me, Stymie, Caruso, Thunder and Casper. Only Pongo was able to keep his “equipment” because so far he’s the cutest, and he’s still sweet. He’s so tiny that we don’t know if he’ll ever want to make baby goats, but it’s ok if he doesn’t. Wench is getting old and can’t take it anymore.

Our newest baby is Belinda. She’s really sweet, and is being bottle fed because her momma, Bluebelle, doesn’t have any milk. Well, she might have a little, but not enough to keep this scamp going!

Anyway, I hope to impart some thought-provoking “isms” in my e-pissles.  Here’s the first one:    In a world where you can be anything, be kind.