From time to time the Bear enjoys regaling his friends with bucolic tales from Zoar, the Bear's "little place" of refuge, or, as the Zoar Tourism Council likes to say: "The city God didn't destroy!"
Blaquette remains the belle of the farmyard, and adores one of the Bear's sons. She will run to him and beg to be picked up every time he visits. She also still enjoys jumping onto his back if he will bend over for her. (He calls her "a menace," but he really likes her.)
Our little Holly, whom you may remember from the picture of her riding in our car, is the main milk-producer at the moment, but she isn't really a dairy goat, and production is pitifully weak. Nevertheless, the shepherdess takes her duties seriously, and faithfully takes her appointed place at the milking stanchion morning and evening.
Ava is our real dairy goat, but she's too young, and mammals just don't start making milk one day, you know. She is a Swiss Saanen and Nubian mix.
Did you know that soap is made of lard? What the heck? The Bear is sure it will be sweet-smelling and perfect, but still, lard? Perhaps the Bear should not disclose details. We are supposedly waiting for the humidity to lower before commencing soap-making operations. The Bear does not know anything about these matters.
In other news, the Bear is looking for a large marble plinth at a reasonable price large enough for a two-ton equestrian statue.
Quick commercial for free, no-strings-attached gift of a professionally produced audio book of Judging Angels, Chapter 1: Last Things, read...
the Bear has learned a few things since retiring from the Catholic Outrage Blog Industry. (Beyond a certain number of lines, Blogger does no...
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As Bear has thought about the comments from the last piece, he realized something. The Bear himself has usually thought of this ephemeris ...