(Author’s note: The idea of a set schedule is a flexible one in Saragun Springs. Thus later often comes early and early comes later. And although Dame Daisy announcingly announced a fall debut for her rubaiyat, she has provided a three day sample, which we will run this week–Leila)
i
Into the realm was born Buckfast the Geep
His finer half Goatly the rest mere Sheep*
Snipes and Jackalopes some say are real
As Bucky Geep who drinks like an Eel
ii
Bucky Geep is a football hooligan
His gets in rows just like a fooligan
Son of a Billy and a Ewely Ewe
Saturdays spent hooves deep in beer and spew
iii
The billigits tried to tame the rascal
Bucky you will not live in a castle
Or win a Geeply Geepette, a saint
If you continue to don war paint
iv
Buckfast listened to the billies’ patter
But to our boy it seemed too dear a matter
To give over the scrum and live beside
A ruminant Nanny with herded eyes
(*It is important to remember that Daisy is a Goat. All Sheep complaints should be addressed to Miss Kloverleaf–LA)
Saragun Springs 
Daisy selected the image. She envisions herself on a “search.” Guess she sees herself as a statue as well. Who knows
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Leila
Daisy is the most surprising, intriguing, and creative goat I’ve ever encountered, and I met Bob the Goat outside Bellingham, WA, at some point in the ’90s I can’t exactly pin down. Bob spent his days ruminating (in the good way) in an automobile junkyard, and I believe we were there so the friend I was with could find a part for his beat-up car so we could continue on our journey, which involved randomly visiting other friends and spending inordinate amounts of time in shady dive bars in towns we’d never been to before and will never be in again, probably.
It seems clear that she does envision herself on a search and sees herself as a statue as well. This makes her (I believe) a very rare goat who very much stands out from the very boring (and bored) crowd (maybe one in 340 million). Such numbers can lead to loneliness but also longevity in the very long term.
I have another goat story I need to tell one of these days. So I might as well tell it here. This is not fictional nonfiction, it’s straight-up nonfiction.
I was walking down a road in northern Michigan when I noticed a poor mother goat had gotten her head stuck in a fence while trying to reach out and grab a piece of something she probably thought was food. Her tiny white baby goat was hopping all around her in distress, bopping up and down back and forth all around her and bleating. The mother was stoically staring forward with her head caught in the fence, unable to move even one inch. The farmer was nowhere to be seen. I made straight for the fence, grabbed her by the horns, twisted her neck in just the right way, and pushed backward. She helped me move in the right way and leapt backward, freeing her head from the fence. Her baby was overjoyed, bouncing around, and the mother shook herself off and looked back at me over her shoulder as she now wandered away from the fence, still shaking herself off, and the baby looked back at me too. It was one of the happiest (because tragedy was averted) animal encounters I’ve ever had in my entire life. It happened in summer of ’23 outside Atlanta, Michigan, in the northern part of the Lower Peninsula, in Montmorency County, the least populated and poorest county in the entire state of Michigan.
I think Daisy will like this 100% true story!
Dale
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Dale
That is a wonderful story. Good on you!
I also like Bob. In Sequiem (never can spell it right–a Native word), a few miles south east of Bellingham, is the farm the inspiration for Daisy is found. A herd of Pygmy Goats. Fed one a nutra grain bar (with permission) and she became a quick pal. Then I was given a sack of baby carrots to feed the twenty or so who speeded over to me.
Thank you for saving the Goat!
Leila
(off to work, will reply to your other comment as the day goes on)
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Leila
The literary synchronicity of the Bellingham area goats is rather mind-blowing for me, especially as I just completed a brief essay about another synchronicity involving Carl Sandburg’s biographical volumes about Lincoln, and also because this is a true synchronicity for sure, among other things because I’ve only ever been to Washington state one time, in the ’90s, where most of my time was spent in the Seattle area, on the Olympic Peninsula by the ocean, and in the Bellingham area, where I met and communed with none other than Bob the Goat, who I very vividly remember to this day even though I met him over thirty years ago.
Thank you!
Dale
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Never been sympathetic with those that look down on poetry that rhymes.
Squim is known as a retirement town on the North end of the Olympic Penninsula. Less rainy than most of Western WA. Drove through there once.
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Hi Doug
Also near Clallam County, another spelling bee killer.
Leila
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