Power Struggles
Blog #50:
Greetings, loyal readers.
First things first.
I would like to address the unfortunate situation regarding last week’s blog.
As many of you may have noticed, there was a guest author.
A certain goat.
A certain goat who apparently decided that because I was resting after successfully hosting a fundraiser during a monsoon, that he was somehow qualified to take over my publication.
Now, I am not saying the article was bad.
I am not saying it was poorly written.
I am not saying it was filled with spelling mistakes, unnecessary security warnings, and an unhealthy obsession with fence integrity.
I am simply saying that some of us have spent years building a respected journalistic career, and some of us eat cardboard.
I will not be naming names.
For legal reasons.
And safety reasons.
Mainly safety reasons.
Because the individual in question currently serves as Head of Security.
And he has an extraordinarily thick head.
A head that has repeatedly proven stronger than both logic and several sections of fencing.
And he knows where I sleep.
So I would like everyone to know that there is absolutely no disagreement between myself and Security Director Cletus.
Everything is fine.
Wonderful, actually.
The safest I’ve ever felt.
Please do not mention this blog to him.
Thank you.
Moving on.
We had another exciting weekend here on the farm.
Krystin and the humans disappeared overnight, leaving Grandma Donna in charge of the operation.
Now, this is not unusual.
Grandma Donna is a trusted member of the farm crew and frequently helps keep things running smoothly.
She knows where everything is.
She knows how everything works.
And most importantly, she knows where the snacks are stored.
So naturally, everyone felt perfectly safe.
At least until the electricity went out.
The entire farm went dark.
Coincidence?
I think not.
Now, I am not accusing Grandma Donna of causing the outage.
That would be irresponsible journalism.
What I am saying is that Krystin leaves, Grandma Donna takes command, and suddenly the power grid collapses.
Those are simply the facts.
Yet somehow this happened.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The official explanation was that a transformer failed somewhere.
A likely story.
But I have my own theory.
I believe Grandma Donna arrived with so much energy that she overloaded the local electrical system.
It’s the only explanation that makes sense.
Fortunately, one area of the farm remained a shining beacon of hope.
My pig yard.
Thanks to my recently installed solar fence lights, Mudside Manor became the brightest and most technologically advanced neighborhood on the property.
The humans were stumbling around with flashlights.
The internet was down.
The power was out.
Meanwhile, I was enjoying illuminated evening strolls along my fence line like the mayor of a very successful tiny city.
I don’t enjoy saying “I told you so.”
Actually, that’s not true.
I enjoy it immensely.
I told you those lights were a good investment.
The outage created several problems.
The air conditioners stopped.
The fans stopped.
The internet disappeared.
Several humans immediately began wandering around pressing buttons and staring at their phones as if they could somehow negotiate with electricity.
Grandma Donna inspected things.
Paul inspected things remotely.
Krystin received updates.
I inspected things.
To be fair, my inspection mostly consisted of standing in the shade and looking concerned.
But emotional support is important.
The best part was watching the humans realize how dependent they are on modern conveniences.
Within minutes they were discussing generators, batteries, freezers, refrigerators, fuel levels, extension cords, and contingency plans.
Meanwhile the animals carried on as usual.
The horses ate grass.
The pigs took naps.
The dogs barked at things that may or may not have existed.
Cletus conducted what he called a “security sweep.”
Nobody knows what that means.
But it involved a lot of pacing and suspicious staring.
Speaking of security, Cletus has become entirely too comfortable with his position.
He now acts like every visitor must pass his inspection.
He patrols the property.
He monitors fence lines.
He questions delivery drivers.
And after publishing a single blog post, he now considers himself a media professional.
I blame the attention.
The man got one week of applause and now he’s impossible to live with.
Again, not a criticism.
Just an observation.
A very careful observation.
One that definitely won’t result in me getting tackled.
The farm itself is looking good.
The grass is growing.
The animals are happy.
The kittens continue their mission of becoming permanent residents despite originally not being part of the plan.
The dogs remain convinced that every human visitor came specifically to see them.
And I continue carrying the enormous responsibility of being the face of this organization.
A burden I bear with grace, dignity, and remarkable good looks.
Until next time,
Snoutfully Yours,
🐽 Squealexander Hamilton
Founder, Editor-in-Chief, and Definitely Still the Official Blog Author
(Pending Review by the Department of Goat Security)