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Don't adjust your screen....
Elmo is standing on the photographer's back 

If you can bear with yet more goat news, I will tell you that 3.5 goats are litter box trained now. I say 3.5 because Oscar only sort of gets it. He puts his front hooves in the litter box, but fails to scoot the back (and most important) half of his body into the box. Come on, Oscar! Even baby Neko gets it.

Each goat got a bath in the mudroom sink today. I think they enjoyed the nice warm water even though they didn't want to admit it. I was expecting loud meltdowns, but only Oscar cried--and it really was just one or two half-hearted m-e-h-h-h-h-hs. I used all-natural lavender shampoo and conditioner for pets. Lavender is a natural insect repellant, so I'm hoping this will be enough. I hate the thought of chemical pet shampoos.

Believe it or not, goats are not the only thing on our minds around here. We visited Moto, who seems to be warming up to the Wrangler. The Wrangler knows the ropes now and can handle the grooming and hand-walking with ease. Moto just received his routine quarterly vaccinations and is scheduled for his annual teeth floating next Monday. It's remarkable to see how much his mood has improved since he was cleared to resume trotting. Moto's trainer says she can tell that he's glad to be "back to work," and I sure can tell the difference, too. He's less impatient and seems more relaxed. His winter weight is coming off, and he is as handsome as ever.

And so things are happy here. I did, however, halt our quest to buy a farm in this area. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it's truly beautiful 'round these parts. The climate is pleasant for animals, and I've met some wonderful people in this little town, people I now call friends. But I can't shake my vision of a charming country cape surrounded by acres and acres of green grass on rolling hills and trees that explode with color in the fall. I see an old barn and spacious fenced paddocks for content goats and sheep and horses and chickens. I smell an approaching thunderstorm, and I hear raindrops falling. I see fireflies light up a summer night. I feel the change in the air as summer fades. I revel in the mere possibility of a snow day. I breath in the crisp air when I throw open all the windows on the first day of spring. In the past year, I've made some real progress toward my dream that is the Rainy Day Ranch....I might as well keep going until I get there.

The Ultimate Honing Device: Common Sense

Tonight on our way home from dinner we took a detour to check out a potential property, and we got lost, big time. I can't even remember the last time I've been truly lost. In the city, "lost" just meant that I missed my turn or got the address wrong. After five minutes, tops, I'd be back on my way. Not so out here in the country where nights are pitch black, dirt roads lead to dead ends, and there are no discernible landmarks in the dark. After an hour (and literally driving in circles), we were still lost and starting to bicker.

"Put your phone away. It's never any help," I told the Wrangler, who had one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand up in the air holding his blasted iphone.

The Wrangler was dismissive. "Find location," he instructed Siri, the voice-activated computer/personal assistant that is built into his iphone.

(For those of you craving an iphone with the Siri feature, let me assure you that Siri is good for nothing. She's either (1) flirting ("What would you do without me?" she asks coquettishly after providing--usually incorrect--directions), (2) feigning confusion ("I think you said, 'Tell me more about things that are lame,'" she's replied after being asked, "Tell me the score of the Vikings game"), or (3) getting it plainly wrong ("I'm sorry, there are no restaurants near you," she's informed us, as we pulled into the parking lot shared by no fewer than three well-known restaurants). The mild-mannered Wrangler who never raises his voice to people has been known to shout at Siri, who, for her part, doesn't sit back and take it. I've had to listen to the two of them fight for long stretches of highway on many a Sunday drive.)

Siri promptly found our location...and led us in a circle through the darkest, narrowest, roughest, and most winding road in Southern California. After a good half hour we came to a crossroad that I recognized. "Hey! We just drove in a complete circle!" I yelled. "I told you we couldn't trust her." I pointed angrily at the Wranger's iphone. Darn that Siri!

"The GPS is telling us to take a right," the Wrangler said.

"That's what we did last time. I'm not driving in another circle. If you take a right, I'll scream."

"Well, what do you propose?" the Wrangler asked calmly, refusing to get riled up.

"Turn off the phone. Turn off Siri. Turn off GPS. We just need to use our common sense."

"Fine." The Wrangler powered down the devices, and I sighed with relief.

I looked around. The road to the right was narrow and dark. The road to the left appeared to be wider and smoother. There weren't as many stars in the sky to the left--a sign of the lights of civilization. It seemed pretty clear that, had we noted these simple facts and taken a left instead of blindly following technology down the path to nowhere, we would have been home an hour ago.

Sure enough, within just minutes we were rolling past a Starbucks and headed toward home. I wanted to feel smug about outsmarting a computer, but Siri's such an idiot that outsmarting her really isn't that tough.

This Isn't Your Mother's Front Yard

How rad is this? On a drive through town, we spotted someone eschewing the manicured lawn ideal by growing pumpkins in his front yard. Nice!