Ok, have you heard about this one? A Mississippi school decided to cancel prom instead of allowing one of their female students to escort her girlfriend in a tuxedo.

They canceled prom, rather than let a student to bring her same gendered date and wear traditionally male apparel.

Are you serious?

I don’t even know where to go with this. I can’t even fathom how insanely close-minded that school board must be. To deny hundreds of other students a once in a lifetime event because they don’t agree with homosexuality is absurd! To stand by their ground and ruin the event for EVERYONE before allowing individuals to live their own lives in a way they don’t agree with or approve of is beyond comprehension.

How could you be more comfortable with canceling your child’s prom as opposed to letting him/her attend it with a gay classmate?

Is our society really that far behind? Are we really that judgmental and unaccepting?

Constance,

You are an amazingly strong young woman. I hope you understand how the stand you take today will encourage countless others to defend themselves and stand their own ground.

Be proud of who you are. Be aware of the affect you will have on others. Know the removal of this event is on the shoulders of the adults who are in charge and not your own doing. YOU didn’t cancel prom. This isn’t YOUR fault. I’m sure you will take heat from your classmates and I hope you will keep your chin up and a smile on your face.

I am in awe of you. I am proud to have you as a member of the gay community.

Hang in there. Stand tall. Show ‘em what you’re made of!

And shame on the Fulton county school board!

“No government has the right to tell its citizens when or whom to love. The only queer people are those who don’t love anybody.”
-Rita Mae Brown

Lesbian teen back at Miss. school after prom flap
By SHELIA BYRD, Associated Press Writer Shelia Byrd, Associated Press Writer

“It sends a message that these students shouldn’t be treated the same,” Presgraves said.

Today is March 3.  It is National End the R-Word Day, a time for us to stop and reflect on how our own speech affects those around us.

Please take some time today to join the over 80,000 individuals who have pledged to eliminate the r-word from their everyday conversations.  You can take the pledge at R-Word.Org!

If you use the word “retard” or any variation of, no matter HOW you “mean” it.  You suck.  Ok, you don’t suck, but you’re insensitive to how hurtful it is to those around you.  Those who have to fight to be heard.  Those who have to fight to be seen as an equal.  And those of us who love them.  Those of us who fight along side them.

Take a moment and think before you speak.  It’s as easy as that!  Click on the button below to add your name to the petition to Spread The Word To End The Word!

“Since I have Down syndrome I can teach my big brother how to work harder and never quit.”
Quote By: Eden Rapp (age 12)

I’ve never admittedly been a cat person. However, I feel my home is not complete without a cat companion. I’m a dog person, I really am. But I need a cat in my life.

When I was a pre-schooler, my “parents” painted my bedroom. They put my mattress out in the garage for a few days. We lived in the northern part of the US in the country. A few weeks after they put my mattress back into my room, I would wake up crying because little “monsters” were crawling all over me when they shut out the lights. This went on for a number of nights, with Cruella (aka She-Who-Gave-Birth-To-Me) getting increasingly frustrated. (Patience with her children was never a strong suit.)

Eventually, they realized that a mouse had crawled into my mattress while it was in the garage and had made a nest, complete with little baby mice. When I would go to bed, they would crawl out and climb on me. Ew.

Therefore, I need a cat. I like having a cat.  I haven’t had one in a number of years.  My ex-husband and ex-girlfriend are not cat people.  I could always talk the ex-husband into having cats, but I talked him into the beagle and he was high maintenance back then.  I didn’t want to deal with a cat on top of a previously abused beagle who had separation anxiety.  The ex-girlfriend hates cats.  She isn’t someone you can talk into anything.  There is no other viewpoint, other than her own, and cats are vile, evil creatures in her book.

While Ash isn’t exactly a cat person, I wasn’t even fully moved into my new place before I brought home a cat.  His name was Boo. He was about a year old and he had beautiful gold eyes.  He was handsome. And he barked. How many cats do you know can bark? Boo thought he was a dog, which works out really well because my beagle thinks he’s a cat.

This was Boo. Never mind the clutter, I had just moved in and had not yet finished unpacking.

He was handsome. He was friendly. He loved Jack and they were buddies. As soon as we got up in the morning, Jack (who sleeps in my room) and Boo (who does not) would greet one another as if they had been separated forever.

This all changed last week. I had a friend over. He left. I walked the dog. I came back inside. The next morning, there was no Boo outside my bedroom door. There was no Boo on the couch. We searched everywhere (including inside the refrigerator and the oven) but we finally had to admit it.  Boo was gone.

I called the non-emergency police to alert the animal rescue team. Ash and I went to both local shelters and left his information. I posted him on every free-ad site I could find online. I posted him on Craigslist. Anywhere and everywhere I could.

But it was apparent he was gone.

Ash was heart broken. We She spent the next two days in constant tears.

Being me, my solution was to slap a band-aid on it and get a new cat. Not to take Boo’s place, just to help us get our minds off the empty spot in our house. Ash was very hesitant. Then we found out some friends had a few cats they needed to find a home for. One was a kitten. I figured if Boo never came home, we had a new kitten. And if he did…well, if one cat is good, two is better. (Of course, I would have a farm if I lived in the country!)

Ash and I talked about it and agreed to take the kitten.

I forgot how cute kittens are! How playful….and naughty!

Meet the newest member of our family, Leo. (His name was “Romeo” but Em had a hard time spitting that one out, so we altered his name a bit.)

*Note: this is where we found him when we got up in the morning.

He likes to climb our fake tree. And swim in the dog’s water dish. But he’s a cuddler. He’s a very sweet little boy.  He tolerates the dog and he seems to like Ash and I.  Especially when he wants a warm lap to nap in!  Although he took our mind off  Boo’s absence, we kept looking.

We put out food and used litter so Boo could “smell” his way home. We walked around the neighborhood and constantly kept our eyes and ears open. We notified the neighbors. We did everything we could possibly do.

He disappeared Wednesday night.  Thursday came and went.  As did Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Last night, (Monday, five days gone) I was taking the dog out one last time before bed. I heard meowing and figured it was Leo, upstairs. But it was loud. Too loud for little Leo. I yelled up for Ash to come down. She almost flew down the stairs. Then she heard it too. It was coming from the basement. (We live in a duplex with a shared, unfinished basement.)

We had thought we heard him a few times over the past few days, but this time, we heard him.  We moved some bags and boxes and we FOUND him. In the basement. Under a nightstand. IN OUR BASEMENT.

We brought down a can of cat food. He stayed where he was. We tried to coax him out. He hissed at us. We tried to poke him out with a stick. He resisted.

Finally, he came out and we carried him upstairs. He immediately devoured an entire can of cat food. Then he jumped down and rubbed all over Jack.

He would. not. stop. talking. He has always been a vocal cat, but he was talking up a storm.  He was meowing and talking and purring.  He was just LOUD.

He didn’t seem to mind Leo. He paid him no attention and ignored him, even when he went after Boo’s tail. I think Boo was just happy to be home.

Eventually, Ash and I decided to head to bed. We could have stayed up and watched that damn cat all night. But we didn’t.

This morning, when we woke up, Boo was right where he was supposed to be. Waiting for Jack. Waiting for us.

And as for Boo and Leo? I have a feeling this will be a lifelong friendship!

“Cats are the ultimate narcissists. You can tell this by all the time they spend on personal grooming. Dogs aren’t like this. A dog’s idea of personal grooming is to roll in a dead fish.”

- James Gorman

I have an amazing woman in my life, standing by my side.

She is loving, caring and beautiful.

She’s strong. Strong enough to stand beside a head strong, determined and occasionally impossible woman. She is strong enough to feel her emotions and allow herself to cry. I envy that.

She’s determined. Determined to make our life as comfortable, stable and enjoyable as possible. She works hard, plays hard and values the smallest joys we encounter each and every day. She celebrates our accomplishments and pushes through our setbacks.

She urges me forward when I stand still and need the motivation to move forward. She stands as still as stone when I push her away and test her permanency in my life. She’s smart enough to know why I do it and loving enough to understand that it’s a process we need to go through….over and over again.

She keeps me grounded when I dream too big and helps me dream when I stay too grounded. She balances me out, giving me the freedom to fall and the confidence to soar.

She talks with me. She fights with me. She communicates with me. We don’t sweep things under the rug (very often.) We deal with life, we don’t avoid it. We work together to make our life work, to make US work. We don’t live separate lives together. We make sure our needs are met and we compromise more often than not.

We work together, not against one another. We have common goals for what we want out of life and how we anticipate meeting those goals.

We’re not perfect, but we’re perfect together.

Every night, we lie in bed and talk about our highs and lows of the day. We tell one another one of the reasons we love the other. Sometimes we’re silly. Sometimes we’re serious. But we’re always appreciative of the other.

My hand fits perfectly in hers. Her arms hold me close. I can hear her heart beating as I drift off to sleep. I love those moments. This is my definition of safety. Of comfort.

She’s silly and serious. Strong and delicate. Dedicated and determined.

She is my heart. My love.

I know I don’t tell her that often enough. I’m not romantic enough. I’m not sappy enough. I’m not expressive enough, but I feel it every day, in every way. It’s in every little thing she does and every word that falls from her lips.

I know it falls short of letting you know exactly how I feel, but I love you baby! More than I could ever express!

I am a woman of words. I love words. I love how I can express myself and get my point across in a thousand different ways, just by using different words. The choices are endless. The possibilities are beyond limits.

A great portion of my blog is dedicated to sharing my thoughts, feelings and experiences with the world at large (or anyone who cares to read, which, according to my stats, is a fair number of people.) But sometimes words aren’t enough. I can stand and speak all I want. I can write on this blog until my fingers bleed at the keyboard. However, I’m told actions speak louder than words. And so, I act.

When I chose to become the parent of a special needs child, I knew that child would require me to advocate for her. To be her voice when she couldn’t be heard. To stand up for her when she couldn’t be seen. To fight for her. To make sure I did all I could for society to see her and treat her as a fellow human being and not as someone less valued than anyone else.

I’ve written on that subject endlessly over the years. I’ve supported my words with actions when the opportunity arises and I am given the chance to do so. Lately, those chances seem to keep popping up.

Next week, I will be speaking to a high school regarding a Facebook page similar to the one I posted about yesterday. Two students at the school created the page. While the title would lead one to believe the page supported the Down syndrome community, the content did anything but support this group of individuals.

Yes, I will be “using my words”, but I will be speaking in person. In front of people. To a group of people who, without trying to stereotype, can be the cruelest and most insensitive group of people we come in contact with. Teenagers. High school students. Why would they care to hear anything I have to say?

I have also been invited to attend a conference to showcase the T21 Traveling Afghan Project and explain what it represents.

Unity. Togetherness. Strength. Love. Acceptance.

I am not a public speaker. It’s easy to sit behind my keyboard and share my thoughts and feelings with a faceless public. It’s easy to fight words you can see in black and white and take time to respond to.

Public speaking is different. It’s more personal. It makes you more accountable.

These opportunities take me out of my comfort zone and pushes my level of daily complacency.

But that’s what being MeMa’s mom is about. That’s what being an advocate entails. Not just words, actions.

I’m grateful to be given these opportunities. I’m ecstatic, although nervously so.

However, according to Tom Krause, “If you only do what you know you can do- you never do very much.”

Here’s to doing!

Sometimes, when I have nothing to write about, I wish I had something to say. Other times, when I have nothing to write about, I find something that I HAVE to write about, even though I would rather not.

This is one of those times.

The following article was posted on RT:

Facebook page unites anti-Down Syndrome activists, sparks controversy
Published 22 February, 2010, 17:27

An Italian page on the social networking website Facebook has brought together activists calling to use children with Down Syndrome for target practice, prompting outrage among officials and activists.

The group’s page, which by late Sunday had amassed more than 1,700 members including women, featured a photograph of a baby with Down Syndrome and the word “idiot” scrawled over it. The users referred to these children as “useless baggage” and “foul creatures”, proposing to use them as targets at shooting ranges.

Italian authorities and activists have denounced the web page and are rallying to have it shut down. More than 20,000 internet activists have united against the group, opening rival pages.

Italy’s equality minister Mara Carfagna has called the group “dangerous” and “unworthy of civilized society,” Corriere della Sera newspaper reports.

“Inciting crime is the same thing as committing crime, and without a doubt it will be prosecuted,” said Carfagna. “Those guilty will be found and charged. The police are working to ban the group.”

However, it may take some time for the group’s page to be shut down due to the legal complexities, AFP news agency reported.

This past weekend I was made aware of a similar group on Facebook. Within an hour, the page had been removed completely. Others will pop up, over and over again. and one by one, we will report them and we won’t stop until these groups give up and move on.

I believe we should all, as a society, spend more time building one another up. Helping one another. Supporting each others efforts and causes.

I believe we, as parents and individuals, do things differently and should be supported in our differences, instead of cut down and argued with.

I believe in acting for the good.

I believe we spend too little time on this planet to use it in order to attack, vilify and spread forth hatred and ignorance.

Many genetically abnormal in-utero diagnoses end in termination. Do I agree with it? No. But I support a woman’s right to make the choice that is right for her. I’m not about to start a Facebook page dedicated to throwing that decision in someone’s face and tormenting them with it.

I think the breast is better than the bottle. I think clothe diaper is better than disposable. I think baby wearing is better than allowing a child to cry it out.

Those are my opinions. Those are my decisions to make regarding my child. I don’t look down upon someone else for using formula and buying Pampers. My opinion doesn’t attack, hurt or criticize anyone’s differing opinion because I’m not saying “I’m right and you’re wrong.” I’m not saying, “I deserve to live and you don’t.” Just because something is the correct decision for ME, doesn’t mean it’s the incorrect decision for someone else…NOR does it give me a platform to pick on or attack anyone who chooses to believe or do something differently than I do! (Holy run-on sentence, heh?)

Where do we draw the line between differences, nonacceptance and assault? Why are some people incapable of disagreeing without being combative and cruel?

You may not AGREE with my child’s life, but who is anyone to say she doesn’t DESERVE to live? Who is anyone to say this world would be a better place without her or “her kind”? Who is anyone to make that decision for my child, or anyone’s child?

Even if someone believes my child (or any individual with differing abilities) shouldn’t be allowed to live, does that give them the authority to attack, criticize and condemn a society of people who are different than they are? (I won’t even say “a group of people who can’t protect themselves” because that’s not true. While the majority of individuals with Down syndrome my have difficulty doing so, I know a number of self-advocates that do a damn good job of sticking up for themselves and their peers.)

But back to my point. What positive effects come out of hate groups that name call and de-humanize a group of individuals?

Where is the point? What do these groups hope to accomplish?

I just don’t get it.

What makes people think opposition is a stronger tool than unity? When did we give hatred so much power?

Let your love be stronger than your hate or anger. Learn the wisdom of compromise, for it is better to bend a little than to break.
- Mae West

This is one of those incohesive posts that jumps all over the place, but at least I’m blogging, heh?

Holy cow. I have people falling in love, getting engaged and popping babies out left and right around here!!

And I love every damn second of it!

Life has been crazy hectic.

I have been hooking my fingers off trying to get all the afghans done for the first anniversary of the T21 Traveling Afghan Project, which is March 1st. I have made almost sixty afghans in the past year and have about seven (or so) more to do before the month is out.

I can’t believe it’s already been one year since I began this entire thing.

On the home front, we have some really big events coming up in the next couple months and pre-planning is always a good thing. Laying the ground work. Figuring out all the specifics. Making plans. Contacting necessary individuals. You know. Stuff. Good stuff.

Personally, I’m learning that having friends really does fill the time and I now have two pairs of jeans that I can put on and take off without unbuttoning. (It’s the little things in life, ya know?) Plus, I’ve managed to consistently lose weight and fall further and further away from the dreaded 200 pound mark. I really need to find some motivation to work out more often. I love it when I do it, it’s just doing it. After all, I only have so many hours in my day!

Back to the friend topic.

This past weekend we went with some (newly engaged!!) friends to partake in their matching tattoos! Why would we be invited? Well, we were the inspiration for the tattoos! Shortly after they started dating, I began labeling my Facebook photos of them with “A Squared” because it was shorter than typing out both their names. Now, Abby and Amber have matching “A Squared” tats! We went out to eat beforehand and got to see the baby goats after! They’re getting so big! I never realized goats could be so fun!

And, my very good friend, Homo, has begun blogging! Yeah!! He’s single, men! I’m just saying! Ironically, his blog is titled over the nickname Ash, MeMa and I gave him…Homo. Now, MeMa KNOWS his real name! If you ask her where Eric is, she points right to him. She just prefers calling him “Homo”. But then again, don’t we all?

Other than that, I am keeping busy…and happy.

Sometimes I look back, even over the past year, and I’m amazed at how far I’ve come. I’m proud of the footing I’ve found and the life I’ve built around myself. I’ve spent a lot of my life restricted, whether self imposed or otherwise. I tried to fit into the perfect little boxes my parents expected me to fit into. I shut my mouth and became the (un)happy housewife I was expected to be. I pushed aside my desires, goals and needs to bend at every whim and whine with my last ex.

It almost feels like the first thirty years of my life were spent giving myself away to other people and being who they wanted me to be. This has been the year of coming into my own. This has been the year of fully coming out of the closet and living my life on my terms. Whether it’s my sexuality, parenting philosophies or ideals; I’m prepared to defend them. I gave away so much I began to disappear.

Now I’m living life in real color.

My relationship adds to who I am, it doesn’t take away from it. I wish I would have learned this lesson much earlier in life, but I’m satisfied and grateful to be where I am.

I’m strong.

I’m determined.

I’m moving forward.

I’m a survivor.

“A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort.”
-Herm Albright

I have a confession to make. I am horrible at relationships. I truly am. I am a complete and utter mess when it comes to intertwining my life with the life of someone else.

Friendship? I’m a pro!

Parenting? I could write a book (or blog) about it.

Relationships? I just plain out suck.

I readily admit I am not an easy person to be with.

I like things to be a certain way and I get out of sorts when they’re not. I get crabby and edgy.

I like my house clean. I like things to be picked up. I hate dirty dishes in the sink and laundry piled up or scattered on the floor.

I get more irritated with myself, than anyone else, when things aren’t the way I want them. I want help, but I don’t want to have to ask for help.

I am stubborn. I am complicated.

I have a wall up. I don’t know if it will ever full come down. I am guarded. I am secure in myself, yet insecure in a relationship.

I can count on me. I can predict what I will do, want, say and feel. I can control myself.

When you throw another person into my inner world, I can’t predict what they will do, want, say or feel.

Relationships require compromise. I’m good at compromise. I really am. Most of the time. But sometimes I just. don’t. want. too.

“They” say, the first step is admitting you have a problem. I have a problem. I am horrible at relationships.

I admit this. I advertise this. I don’t even try to hide it.

I want it all. I want the benefits of being with the woman I love and the freedom to make decisions on my own, without considering another adult’s thoughts and feelings on the matter. That’s not possible when you’re in a relationship. That’s something you need to let go of and give up. I’m not good at letting things go or giving up. I’m a fighter by nature and life experience.

I don’t like having someone look over my shoulder. I don’t like having to be accountable for where I am or what I’m doing all the time.

I don’t like to not be right.

But I do love her.

And I try.

I try really, really hard.

And sometimes I succeed.

Neither of us may know why I do some of the things, but the harder I push, the more securely she stands in place.

I’m a tester. I test her. I test our relationship. I test myself.

I hate that. But I don’t know how to NOT engage in that behavior. I recognize it, but I don’t know how to change it. I’m willing to change it, but it’s a process and it’s going to be a long process.

I just need to hang onto who I am. All of me. I’m not ready to give myself up and, by my own definition, being in a relationship requires you to give up yourself…even if it’s just a bit.

That’s where I struggle. I’m not ready to do that. As far back as my childhood, I have never had a foundation of trust to teach me the positive outcomes of giving yourself up. It’s always come at a price for me.

I’ve always experienced a loss as a result of trust.

I’ve come a long way. I can trust myself. It’s taken me a very long time to get to that point and I enjoy being at the place I am with that.

Taking the giant leap of extending that to another person is terrifying and seemingly insurmountable.

But again, I’m trying.

Our relationship is good. Hell, it’s really good.

We laugh. A lot.

We enjoy one each others company and we’re making plans for the future.

I don’t know a lot, but I do know that I love her enough to try. I love her enough to work on me and my issues.

I love her enough to work through my issues and fears and make it work. And I know she loves me enough to be there while I make that journey.

But it’s hard. And it’s going to take a lot of time.

I’m a constant work in progress.

But at least I know it.

At least I’m willing to try.

At least I’m still capable of loving with (almost) all that I am.

“There are two ways of meeting difficulties: You alter the difficulties or you alter yourself to meet them.”
-Phyllis Bottome

When I was thirteen years old, an elderly relative of my maternal aunt’s copped a feel under my swim suit top while I was visiting her after the birth of her second child. I told one of my friends, but no one else.

About twelve years later, I finally found the strength and courage to tell my mother, not for myself, but for my two little cousins who were nearing the age I had been when the incident occurred. My concern was for them. They lived yards away from the perpetrator.

So I told my mother.

She informed me the elderly relative had passed away and, therefore, there was nothing to be concerned about. The topic was dropped. It was never brought up again. What was done to me didn’t matter. He was gone. He was dead. He couldn’t touch any other thirteen year old girl’s breast.

I never considered this situation as a “man’s issue”. I knew the price I had paid for the brief moment of pleasure he received, but it was MY problem. It was MY situation to deal with. Not even my own mother seemed to care.  It was MY job to stuff it way down inside me and forget that it ever happened.

But it did happen. And twenty years later, it still affects me.

This past week, I attended a presentation given on a program called Voices Of Men. This program, in short, encourages men to stand up and recognize their role in domestic violence against women and to stand up against it. This topic is typically considered a “woman’s topic”, but the truth of the matter is, the majority of women who are battered or assaulted are the victim of a man.

Voices of Men is a group of Fox Valley men dedicated to ending violence in our community and preventing the abuse of girls and women through education, role modeling and mentoring of boys and men. (From their website.)

Even men who have never raised a hand to a woman have likely played a part in domestic violence. By standing by and remaining silent, they are giving the unspoken “man code” that they support the words or actions of another man, even those that are violent and abusive. By calling a fellow teammate a “sissy”, they are degrading women. Every time a boy is told he “throws like a girl”, women are degraded and made to be less than the male population. Every sexist joke contributes to the problem. Every time you’re offended, but remain silent and laugh it off, you’re contributing to the problem.

The truth is, we teach our sons to be strong and our girls to be pretty and pleasing. While I’ve made sure my son had a doll and my daughter has trucks, I never associated gender stereotypes with domestic violence…until the other night. Women are degraded by the media with every skimpy outfit and bouncing pair of boobs you see. From a very young age, we pad up our sons with helmets and send them on the field to crash into one another and we put our same age daughters into skimpy little outfits and encourage them to jump around on the sidelines.

When our boys are weak, we tell them to be stronger. When they are sensitive or caring, we call them “girls”. Boys don’t cry, girls do.

When our girls are strong and outspoken, we call them “bitchy” or one of many slangs for “dyke”.

Women are body parts. Women are property.

This is the message we give our young boys and girls every day. In countless ways. Without even realizing it.

It’s no longer enough to not be a part of the problem. By not being involved in a solution, we are all a part of the “problem”. It’s not enough to turn the other way or keep your mouth closed. By doing so, you’re silently saying it’s okay.

Many men don’t realize this subject is THEIR subject until they have someone close to them experience violence…or until they become the parent of a baby girl. This isn’t a men’s issue OR a woman’s issue. It’s a HUMAN issue.

The presentation was well done and very informative. Very eye opening. The discussion that followed was real, raw and personal.

I highly encourage you to take a look around their website and learn what they’re about. If you’re in the area, see where a presentation may fit into your schedule or inquire about getting the presentation into your school, work, church or community.

Violence against anyone is violence against us all.

A woman may not be your friend, your sister, your mother, or your daughter….but she is someone’s sister. She is someone’s friend. She is someone’s mother or daughter. Don’t wait to do something until it IS your friend. Or your sister. Or your daughter.

Teach your sons how to respect women. Teach your daughters to protect themselves. Teach yourself to do something; open up your mouth and say something.

One in six women, at one point in their lives, will be sexually assaulted or experience abuse.

One out of six. Is this a statistic we want to hand down to our daughters?

Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.
-Salvor Hardin

As you can probably guess from my lack of posting, life has been pretty darn busy lately! Ash and I have some big plans coming up in the future and The T21 Traveling Afghan Project has kept me on my toes. Toss in parenting, working and the various other activities we have going on in our lives….busy!

My friend Abby has goats! Cute little baby goats! They are frickin’ adorable!

Here is Abby-Friend, with Runtely (all black) and Ducky (whom Ash got to name!):

Abby’s other half, Amber:

I’m sure you can name the following individual! With Ducky (did I mention she got to NAME this one?):

And me, with Runtley. I always go for the underdog!! I am proud to say this little guy was the first one to “get” bottle feeding!

Speaking of feeding, how does one feed a goat? With a bottle, of course! No goats were intoxicated as a result of this feeding!

That’s all I got, folks!

If something more exciting happens, I’ll be sure to let you know. I’m having blogging block!

“Don’t approach a goat from the front, a horse from the back, or a fool from any side.”
-Yiddish Proverb