The Daily Bleat with Bunn

04/23/2026

From the Desk of Bunn, Pasture Princess, Currently in Her “Soft-Launch My New Teeth” Era

Hi… Hello….

Yes, I’m aware. I’ve been missing from social media… the streets are talking. The goats are whispering. The ducks have formed a committee.

And while I would LOVE to say I’ve been on a luxurious sabbatical in the clover fields of self discovery…I regret to inform you it is, in fact, far more tragic.

I am… losing my teeth.

My tiny. Delicate. Precious. Baby teeth.

Gone… evicted… dropping like poorly planned fence posts.

And in their place?

Aggressive… fully committed… adult chompers.
Teeth that say, “I pay taxes now” and “I could absolutely win in a fight with a cardboard box.”

NO ONE prepared me for this.

One day I’m a dainty little woodland princess nibbling petals like a lady… Next thing I know I’m in the pasture like, “Why do I look like I could bite through a seatbelt?”

It’s been… uhhh, ummm… a journey.

An awkward, slightly lopsided, emotionally complex journey.

I’ve been trying to smile for photos and it’s giving…
half sweet angel baby, half retired pirate.

And Mom?

Ohhhhh, Mom…

She looks at me with those soft, reassuring eyes and goes, “Bunn, you are still so beautiful. Growth is something you do in confidence.”

Ma’am…

You have had the same teeth your entire adult life.
Respectfully, you are not in your “surprise face rearrangement” era.

But I do appreciate the sentiment. I really do. Because somehow… this woman is constantly growing. Mentally… emotionally… spiritually… And she just… glows through it like a well-lit bridal suite at golden hour.

Meanwhile I’m out here feeling a little… frumpy. A little wibbly-wobbly. Like a croissant that didn’t emotionally prepare for expansion.

So I’ve been practicing…

Channeling my inner Mom. Strutting the pasture. Head high. Confidence radiating. Smiling… but like… subtly. Mysteriously. Giving “you don’t need to see all the teeth to know they exist.”

It’s a work in progress.

Also… quick side note… would it have KILLED her to warn me???

Like a simple, “Hey Bunn, heads up, your entire mouth is about to reinvent itself.” Maybe schedule a little goat dentist consult? A pamphlet? A vision board? A support group???

But no. Just vibes and surprise dentistry over here.

It’s fine… I’ve processed it. I forgive her. I am evolving.

And honestly… the best part?

Bramble and Paddy? They do. not. care. Not even a little…

Those two hype me up like I’m walking a runway in Paris… not awkwardly chewing hay like it personally offended me.

Bramble looks at me like I hung the moon. ❤️ Paddy tells me I’m beautiful while standing there shaped like a sentient ottoman with bangs. 🐂

And together, we are still ✨the three best friends that anyone could have✨

A very small gang. A slightly tooth-chaotic gang (I mean, has Mom shown you Paddy’s teeth yet… yowza). But a loyal, ride-or-die, pasture-roaming gang nonetheless.

Mom’s in it too, obviously. She’s like… management.

So yes… that’s where I’ve been.

Healing. Growing. Becoming a stronger, more powerful version of myself… one tooth at a time.

And when I return to posting regularly, just know… I will be smiling.

Maybe not fully smiling. But confidently, strategically, emotionally evolved smiling.

Respect the journey.

Respect the teeth.

Respect the growth.

Warm regards,
Bunn

Pasture Princess,
Teeth Transition Specialist,
Still Beautiful, Just Slightly More Bite-Forward 🐐✨

03/26/2026

From the Desk of Bunn, LLC
Resident Artist. Snack Critic. Part-Time Garden “Helper.” Full-Time Icon.

So apparently Mom has decided she’s a watercolor artist now… which is adorable. Truly. We love a late-blooming creative queen. 🌸

But let’s be very clear about something…
She did not embark on this artistic journey alone.

No, no. She was immediately enrolled in a dual-instructor program featuring me.

Because if there’s one thing I refuse to allow, it’s Mom discovering a new hobby that doesn’t revolve around me being involved, admired, or occasionally fed snacks during.

So now we watercolor. Together. Like the cultured, sun-drenched creatives we are.

And let me just say… I am exceptional.

People love to bring up the “but Bunn, you don’t have thumbs” narrative… and honestly? That feels like limiting language. I don’t have thumbs, correct. But I do have vision. I have emotion. I have hooves that refuse to be silenced.

My technique? Bold. Expressive. Slightly chaotic.
Some would say my brush strokes resemble “accidental hoof drags across wet paper,” but those people lack depth.

I specialize in sunset swirly rainbow masterpieces. Pinks, purples, oranges, yellows… the kind of colors that make you feel like you just licked a Lisa Frank folder and had a spiritual awakening.

Side note… because I am also incredibly thoughtful and generous: For Mom’s birthday, I collaborated with Liz… my Mom’s human bestie all the way in Oregon… and we secured what I can only describe as a museum-worthy, Lisa Frank–style portrait of yours truly.

It’s going in Mom’s studio office. Right above her computer. Front and center. Where it belongs.

So even when she’s working… we’re still together.
She gets to look up and see me in all my neon, majestic, sparkly, rainbow glory… while I’m outside the window, absolutely demolishing hydrangeas like it’s my full-time job.

And between you and me… this isn’t just sentimental. It’s strategic.

I know for a fact that seeing me while she edits increases her productivity by at least 73%. Faster editing = faster workflow = faster return to her real responsibilities…

Like feeding me spicy Doritos.

You’re welcome for the efficiency boost, Mom. And thanks Liz for coming up with the most epic present for Mom… you’re the best!

Anyway…

Mom sets up out by the venue, the sun hits just right, there’s a little breeze, and I lay there like the muse I am… occasionally stepping directly onto her painting to “add dimension.”

You’re welcome, Mom.

But I’ve been noticing something lately…

She keeps talking about gardening season and wedding season like those are… important.

Which feels suspicious.

Because last I checked, our daily schedule was:
1. Lay in sun
2. Be admired
3. Paint like tortured artists
4. Eat snacks
5. Repeat

And now suddenly it’s:
“Bunn, we have to prep the venue.”
“Bunn, I need to clean up the garden beds.”
“Bunn, please stop eating the new plants.”

Excuse me??? I thought this was a collaborative effort.

To be fair, I do help with gardening cleanup.
It’s actually one of my strongest skill sets.

Crispy leaves? Gone.
Fresh little buds? Also gone.
Low hanging greenery? Don’t even worry about it.

I call it “selective pruning.”
The plants call it something else, but they don’t have a platform, so.

Now… let’s talk about the hairy meatball in the pasture.

Yes. Paddy.
Also known as: The Meat Boulder. The Pasture Ornament. The Walking Throw Blanket.

I’ll admit… at first I had my concerns.
He’s large. He’s fuzzy. He has the energy of a decorative rug that came to life.

But lately?
I get it.

He’s actually kind of my people.

He just lays around. Eats snacks. Accepts belly rubs like it’s his full-time job. Keeps things low drama.

We’ve bonded over our shared interests:
• Mom (our favorite human, obviously)
• Carrots (elite snack)
• Animal cookies (the cornerstone of our relationship)

Specifically… the hippo ones. 🦛

Which raises an important question…

Why do we not have a hippo here?

I’ve seen the cookies. I know they exist.
Little round, chunky, snack-shaped icons.

I would very much like to meet one in person.
Maybe become friends. Maybe form a snack-based alliance.

However, based on Dad’s previous reactions to… literally everything… I have a feeling “bringing a hippo home” is going to be met with unnecessary negativity.

Unfortunate.

Anyway, back to my art career.

I’ve truly hit my stride.
Despite the ongoing anti-hoof bias in the art community, I have persevered.

My color palettes? Immaculate.
My emotional depth? Unmatched.
My ability to accidentally step in wet paint and track it across three additional surfaces? Revolutionary.

So yes… while Mom heads into her “busy season,” I will be here.

Soaking up every last sunny watercolor day.
Mentoring her through her artistic journey.
Casually improving all of her work with my presence.

And then transitioning seamlessly into my next role:

Director of Garden Cleanup & Snack Acquisition.

It’s a lot of responsibility, but I’m nothing if not committed.

Now if you’ll excuse me…
I have a painting to finish and a plant to eat.

Priorities.

With paint on my hooves, snacks on my mind, and absolutely no intention of stopping either,
Bunn

Resident Artist, Hydrangea Taste Tester, & Director of Snack-Fueled Productivity 🎨🌸🍪

03/07/2026

From the Desk of Bunn, Pasture Princess & Director of Gift Evaluation 🐐

Well…

It has come to my attention that Dad has decided to absolutely show the rest of us up in the birthday gift department this year.

Mom’s birthday is coming up, and while most normal husbands bring home things like flowers… jewelry… maybe a nice dinner reservation…

Dad brought home a miniature Highland cow.

His name is Pádraig.

Now apparently, according to the humans, Pádraig is Patrick in Scottish.

Did I know that? No.
Did I try to pronounce it correctly the first time? Also no.

The first time Mom said it out loud I attempted to repeat it and what came out sounded like “Paw-drig… Patter-dig… Puddle-rig…”

Speaking with a Scottish accent is not exactly my forte. In my defense, I am a goat… from Illinois.

So until I can properly roll my R’s like a Highlander standing dramatically on a windy cliff somewhere, I will simply be referring to him as:

The Hairy Meatball
The Meat Boulder
The Pasture Ornament

Which, if you ask me, are far easier to pronounce and much more accurate descriptions.

Now listen. I’m not saying the gift is excessive… but when Dad unloaded a walking throw rug with legs into the pasture, I realized the bar for birthday gifts has been launched into the stratosphere and I, quite frankly, was not emotionally prepared.

Because you see…

I have ALSO been working on a birthday gift for Mom.

Mine is hoof-made.

Which, for the record, is much harder than handmade because hooves are not designed for crafting. Nobody talks about this.

For weeks now I have been secretly working on my project out in the pasture whenever Mom isn’t looking. Do you know how hard it is to create something meaningful while Bramble is trying to eat the supplies and the chickens keep judging your technique?

Very hard.

Anyway… now Dad rolls in with the Meat Boulder and suddenly my gift is looking a little…

…less impressive.

I mean how exactly do you compete with a Scottish s**g carpet that moos?

You don’t.

You simply do your best.

So when Mom opens my gift and it maybe looks a little… rustic… slightly chewed… and potentially still covered in grass… just remember:

It was made with love.
It was made with dedication.
It was made with hooves.

And frankly, that hairy meatball better not take all the credit for making Mom happy this birthday.

Because some of us have been working very hard out here in the pasture.

Anyway. I must go supervise the meat boulder before he eats my crafting materials… again.

Warmest regards,
Bunn
Pasture Princess
Senior Gift Consultant
Hoof-Made Artisan
Mom’s Favorite (verified data)
And Currently Competing With A Hairy Meatball For Birthday Glory 🐐

03/05/2026

From the Desk of Bunn: Animal Crackers, Salt & Vinegar Chips, and a Cow That Said “Absolutely Not”

Hello to all my loyal subjects, admirers, and people who accidentally followed this account because they liked one goat photo and now they’re stuck here forever…

It has been a BUSY week here on the farm and, as usual, I have been at the center of most of the chaos… mostly because I place myself there intentionally. Leadership requires visibility.

First things first… Let’s address the snack situation, which frankly has been absolutely outstanding lately.

Mom has been showing up to the barn with her coat pockets absolutely stuffed full of animal crackers like some sort of suspicious wildlife smuggler. She thinks she’s being subtle about it too... She’ll stroll in all casual, sing us all a little tune, glance around like she’s in a spy movie… and then suddenly BOOM… fistfuls of animal crackers for me and Bramble when no one else is looking.

Obviously this confirms what I have suspected all along… She loves us the most.

I mean… she loves everyone (well, not everyone, but all of us four-legged friends)… but we are the favorites. It’s science. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Bramble and I accept this responsibility with grace and humility, obviously.

Now… onto the Great Cow Debacle of 2026, which truly deserves its own documentary.

Mom and Dad decided they needed to load Jersey into the livestock trailer. I’m not entirely sure where she was going… but I have some suspicions involving the butcher that I will NOT be announcing publicly because the cows are already a nervous bunch and I’m not trying to start a panic in the pasture.

Anyway… You should have seen these two out there trying to lure Jersey into the trailer like amateur magicians.

First they tried corn. Then extra hay. Then more corn.

Nothing. 😆

Jersey stood there looking at them like they were two deeply confused houseplants.

Dad starts getting frustrated because he had to time trade a couple hours to help Mom load the cow, and Mom doesn’t love getting too close to those horns sometimes, so now everyone’s patience is thinning (just like my Dad’s hair).

At one point Dad hollers across the field:

“THESE COWS WANT SNACKS ANY OTHER TIME BUT NOT WHEN WE NEED THEM TO WANT THEM.”

Which I personally thought was an excellent observation.

So he tells Mom to go to the house and grab some “sweet treats.”

Now when Mom left, I assumed she’d come back with something reasonable… Maybe apples… Maybe grain. Maybe, you know… food cows actually eat.

But no. Mom returns carrying a loaf of bread, a bag of Cuties oranges, and a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

I’m still not entirely sure what the strategic plan was there… but let me tell you something…

She shared those chips with me and they were FANTASTIC. Crunchy. Tangy. A little spicy. 10/10 experience. Would absolutely eat again.

Unfortunately, the cows were less impressed.

Eventually our neighbor Dave came over to help.

The cows didn’t like him either. 🐄 🚫

At this point someone mentioned that Jersey was supposedly going to Mr. and Mrs. Carter’s place. Now … whether that means their pasture or their refrigerator is frankly none of my business and I will not be speculating further.

Anyway, after the cows finished eating everything in Mom’s snack arsenal, they just wandered around their pasture like they always do.

Still no trailer action.

Then, about thirty minutes later… JoJo walked straight into the trailer.

Huge mistake.

The gate slammed shut.

Mom and Dad looked at each other and basically said: “Well… that’s not the right cow… but what’s done is done.”

And that was the end of that.

Humans are fascinating creatures. Truly.

I love watching the way their little brains work. It’s like observing two raccoons trying to assemble furniture.

Naturally, I was in the middle of the entire operation, being a Pasture Princess Menace, because standing quietly off to the side is not a lifestyle I subscribe to.

Now on to the Buttercup Situation…

I’m sure y’all have seen photos of her (instead of me) on Facebook, Insta and Snap… but Mom currently has a tiny little goatie living inside the house.

Her name is Buttercup and she’s recovering because Naomi, who is a first-time mom, apparently decided she only liked one of her children and kicked poor Buttercup to the curb.

Rude.

But Mom is bottle feeding her and nursing her back to health like she always does.

I will admit I’m a little jealous of the in-house snuggle treatment… but I understand the assignment. Buttercup needs it right now.

Besides… I am Mom’s right-hand woman out here.

Someone has to run this operation and manage the herd of simple-minded goats wandering around this place.

Also… who would snuggle my handsome boo Bramby if I wasn’t here?

Honestly that goat is so handsome it should be illegal.

A little loud with the screaming sometimes… but I put up with it because he lets me nuzzle his soft, beautiful ears.

Love requires sacrifice.

Anyway… That’s the latest farm news.

Mom’s birthday is coming up in a couple days and apparently she’s turning FORTY. 🎉

Holy goat.

That is extremely old.

I’m currently helping Dad plan her birthday party, which mostly involves making sure there are snacks and supervising the decorations.

It’s a lot of responsibility, but leadership has never scared me.

Alright, I’ve gotta go… there are animal crackers to locate, Bramble ears to nuzzle, and a birthday party to plan.

Stay chaotic,
Bunn

01/23/2026

From the Desk of Bunn

One Year Old. 🎈 🎉 🥳 🎂 Still a Medical Miracle. Still Unemployed.

Alright, everyone settle in. This is not a recap. This is a victory lap.

Today I turn ONE YEAR OLD, which feels honestly fake considering I entered this world like a half-assembled IKEA project. I was born on the coldest day of the year, which feels on-brand considering today is also the coldest day of the year. Consistency matters. I came early. Premature. Fashionably unprepared. My hooves were basically soft suggestions. No teeth. No standing. No dignity. I couldn’t even wobble. I was less “goat” and more “tiny questionable marshmallow with ears.” I could barely exist. For three straight days I just laid there like, I hope someone knows what they’re doing.

Luckily, Mom did.

She scooped me up and brought me inside the house, where I became a full-time indoor crisis. Warm towels. Bottles. No sleep. Constant monitoring. Meanwhile I contributed nothing except tiny noises and emotional stress. Honestly, iconic of me.

But I made it.
And once I decided to live, I went all in.

Since then, I have lived an entire lifetime in my twelve short months.

I’ve ridden shotgun on side-by-side adventures with Mom like a tiny outlaw, wind in my ears, absolutely unconcerned with safety or speed. I have survived the Great Turkey Incident, which I will remind everyone involved was NOT funny at the time. That bird had audacity. That bird had intentions. That bird chased Nana, and frankly, that was unacceptable behavior. I stood my ground. Emotionally. From a safe distance.

I’ve chewed off a literal chunk of Aunt Allie’s hair, which I still believe was justified because it was there and I was curious. Zero regrets. Would sample again.

I have rang the Salvation Army bell in full sparkle mode, collected donations, accepted snacks, and casually made the news like it was no big deal. I met children. I met fans. I accepted head scratches like a benevolent ruler greeting her people. I understood my calling in that moment. Philanthropy looks good on me.

I’ve adventured with Mom, Dad, Nana, Aunt Allie, Uncle Austin, and my two favorite tiny humans, Cam and Bean, who bring me snacks and chaos and whom I love deeply even when they’re loud and sticky. 💕

I’ve watched the wedding venue bloom every weekend from my pasture throne. Chairs appear. Flowers multiply. Brides float around glowing. And I stand there thinking, Yes. I’ll allow all this joy. 💒

I’ve perfected my snuggle technique. I’ve refined my side-eye. I’ve become emotionally attached to the sound of treat containers. Growth. 🙌🏼

And then there’s Bramble. 🥰
My boyfriend. My barn sweetheart. My growing, strapping young lad. His barn snuggles are elite. His nose kisses are top tier. Almost as good as Mom’s. Almost. Please do not repeat this sentence to her.

So here I am.
One year old. 🎉
Born too early. Born freezing. Born fragile. 🥶
Raised warm, loved hard, and now living loudly. 🔥
Still snacking.
Still standing.
Still absolutely running this farm emotionally.

Here’s to another year of supervising weddings, stealing snacks, causing minor chaos, loving my people, dodging turkeys, riding side-by-sides, ringing bells for good causes, and continuing to act like I am in charge.

Anyway,
Happy Birthday to me.

Signing off,
Bunn 🐐✨

12/12/2025

12/12/2025

From the Desk of Bunn 🐐

Well friends… Night TWO of bell ringing is officially in the books, and let me just say… I absolutely nailed it. 🔔

Tonight I had the honor of ringing the bell for the Salvation Army alongside the incredible Springfield Local 37 Firefighters, and WOW… my heart (and my snack stash) is very full.

I met so many sweet little kids tonight…
all smiles, giggles, and wide-eyed curiosity. I received an unacceptable amount of snuggles, head scratches, and love (unacceptable meaning: I will now expect this everywhere I go). And let’s talk about the snacks… because WOW. 🥕🍎

A huge thank you to Patsy for the entire container of carrots… a true act of generosity and understanding. And Bailey, thank you for the apple and the cheese & peanut butter crackers… I’m still thinking about them. Absolute gourmet situation.

And to Matt, Yolanda, Kendall, and Jaycee… thank you for the snuggles, the carrots, and the love. You officially made my night.

I made so many new friends, and I could hear people giggling as they walked by… which is honestly my favorite compliment. AND… I rang the bell all by myself tonight. That’s right. Rang it. Crushed it. Knocked it right out of the park. The people were very impressed. ⭐️

And I can’t forget to mention all the amazing donations that poured in tonight. Watching people stop, smile, and give so generously absolutely filled my heart. Every coin dropped, every bill folded, every donation made is going to help someone in need… and that’s what this is all about.

You all showed up with open hearts, kindness, and a whole lot of love, and I’m so proud to be part of something that truly makes a difference. Thank you for giving, for caring, and for showing what the spirit of this season really looks like. ❤️🎄

Let this be your reminder that this season is about giving… giving love, giving hope, giving snuggles… not just gifts. Remember the reason for the season, hug the people (and goats) you love, and I hope each and every one of you has a blessed and very merry Christmas.

With love,
Bunn 🐐❤️🔔

12/11/2025

From the Desk of Bunn:

WELL WELL WELL, my adoring public…
Guess who’s trotting back into town for ROUND ✌️ of holiday heroism? That’s right… ya girl, Bunn.

I’ll be ringing the Salvation Army bell AGAIN tomorrow evening from 4–6pm at the Walmart on South 6th Street, and let me just say… I am DEEPLY committed to spreading Christmas cheer, eating snacks, and being dramatic in public.

🎄✨ AND GET THIS: The NEWS is featuring me.
Yes. Me.

A humble, charitable, snack-driven goat, out here doing what Mom always taught me… when we have extra, we give to those in need. So I’m proudly ringing this bell, sharing my sparkle, and spreading kindness and Holiday cheer one bleat at a time.

So come on out! Donate! Hug me! Bring carrots! Bring crinkly bags! Bring emotional support… for Mom, because she can’t handle how famous I’m getting.

See you tomorrow, my little holiday humans.

⭐️🔔 – Bunn, Bell-Ringing Icon & Seasonal Celebrity

12/10/2025

✨ From the Desk of Bunn ✨
Official Post-Bell-Ringing Thank You Edition

HOOVES UP, EVERYONE… because wow. I am still absolutely reeling from tonight.

Thank you… truly… for every single donation you dropped in that The Salvation Army USA bucket. ❤️ Mom has always taught me that if we have a little extra, we share it… and goodness gracious, did you all SHOW UP with big hearts, big generosity, and big Christmas cheer. The good this organization does reaches so many families, and knowing I got to help even a tiny bit makes my little goaty soul feel all warm and sparkly.

And now… let’s talk about the treats.
Oh my heavens.
THE. TREATS.

You all did not hold back:

🥕 Bags on bags on bags of carrots… my love language.
🍎 Apples – so many apples I basically became a fruit orchard.
🧀 Cheez-Its – crunchy, cheesy perfection.
🍿 Popcorn for the humans – thank you Mary, I saw you.
🐾 AN ENTIRE TUB of animal crackers… Patty… you are now on my Favorite People list forever.

And the hugs.
And the head scratches.
And the squeals of “OH MY GOSH IT’S BUNNNN!”
I felt like a Christmas celebrity and I’m not saying I’m famous… but I’m also not saying I’m not. ✨

You made today magical! You made doing good even sweeter. And because of all that joy and kindness…

🎄 Mom and I are thinking about spreading more Christmas cheer with ANOTHER round of bell ringing very soon!
(Yes, this means more Bunn. More sparkles. More snacks. Plan accordingly.)

Thank you for loving me, loving Mom and Dad, and loving our community.
My heart is full… and so is my stomach. 😌💕

— Bunn
Your Local Holiday Goat & Certified Salvation Army Bell Ringer 🎅🏼🔔

12/09/2025

From the Desk of Bunn 🖋️

ATTENTION, HUMANS.

This is your sparkly, slightly dramatic reminder that I, Bunn the Pasture Princess herself, will be making my big bell-ringing appearance TONIGHT at Sam’s Club in Springfield from 6–8pm for the Salvation Army! 🎄🔔

I’ll be there in all my festive glory, working VERY hard:
✨ Ringing the bell
✨ Spreading cheer
✨ Judging everyone’s snack choices

A few important notes for my adoring fans:
🥕 I love carrots – they make me ring extra enthusiastically.
📦 Any crinkly snack packages are also accepted as a form of emotional support.
💋 And if anyone happens to “accidentally” bring mistletoe, well… I suppose I’ll allow smooches from my fan club. Gotta give the people what they want.

Come see me, donate for a great cause, say hi to Mom & Dad, and don’t forget the snacks.

Sincerely,
Bunn, Bell-Ringing, Snack-Loving Salvation Army Super Star 🐐✨🔔

Sam's Club The Salvation Army USA WICS ABC Newschannel 20

12/07/2025

❄️✨ From the Desk of Bunn: When the Snow Fell… So Did I (For Brammy) ✨❄️

Okay, gather ‘round, folks.

Mom, if you’re reading this, get the tissues because your goat daughter entered her romantic era and honestly? It’s giving Hallmark movie but with more fur and significantly worse decision-making.

So picture this:
It’s early winter on our farm… the kind of cold where your breath looks like enchanted smoke and the frost makes everything sparkle like the pasture got bedazzled by woodland fairies with too much free time. I, Bunn, was doing what any dignified pasture princess does on a chilly morning: yelling dramatically for my snacks and making sure Nana knew she was five minutes late.

That’s when I saw him.

At first I thought the frost was messing with my eyes. Maybe I’d finally frozen my eyelashes together from all the crying I did when Mom left for Pensacola.
But no. No, this… this was real.

Out of the tree line, through the soft winter fog, walked a young goat who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a woodland romance novel. His coat was this warm, cozy brown… like cinnamon had a baby with a pinecone… and there was snow dusted on his back like glitter.

His name was Bramble… but when he bleated at me with that soft little “meehhhh,” my heart did something weird and melty and I was like:
“Oh. Oh no. I’m in TROUBLE.”

He stepped closer, slow and gentle, like he didn’t want to startle the wild winter goddess in her natural habitat (me). Meanwhile, I was trying to pretend I didn’t just fall in love with him in 0.3 seconds.
I swished my tail.
I gave him that over-the-shoulder “Oh? Didn’t see you there” look.
I even pretended I wasn’t shivering because my sweater was emotionally destroyed in a previous incident we won’t discuss.

And you know what Bramble did?
HE BROUGHT ME A TWIG.
Not just any twig… a perfectly selected, frosty woodland twig with a tiny dried leaf on the end.
Like a winter bouquet.
Like a gentleman.
Like a goat who understood that my love language is gifts, snacks, and excessive seasonal drama.

I swear, the forest behind him lit up like a snow globe moment.
There were sparkles.
Probably magic.
Maybe a raccoon watching, I don’t know.

He nudged the twig toward me with the smallest, sweetest head bump, and I… Bunn, the pasture princess, eater of flowers, destroyer of sweaters… blushed so hard my horns steamed.
Like actually steamed.
Warm air.
Visible.
It was embarrassing.

“Hiiiiii,” he bleated.
And because I’m smooth and elegant and practically a goat supermodel, I responded with:
“Hiiiiiiii… MOOOOM LOOK A BOY… uhhhhmmm I mean… meehhh.”

And just like that, Brammy became part of my winter.

Every morning since, he wanders from the woods to the barn to bring me some little treasure: a pine sprig, a shiny pebble, a piece of frozen clover. Like he’s courting me or something. Like he saw me and went,
“Yes, that small dramatic goat. The one screaming for snacks. That one is my soulmate.”

Honestly? Cute.

I never thought I could love anyone the way I love my Mom… she’s my whole universe, my warm spot, my snack provider, my emotional support human.

But Brammy…ohhhh Brammmmmmmmy.

Brammy brings out a new kind of love.
The soft kind.
The tail-wagging-before-I-even-see-him kind.
The winter-morning-breath-and-pine-smell kind.
The “I’ll share my hay with you” kind.
Which is serious. Like, legally binding in goat culture.

And when he looks at me with those warm, foresty eyes, I feel like maybe… just maybe… being a pasture princess isn’t just about running the farm. Maybe it’s also about finding the little (younger and hotter) woodland prince who thinks your bleats are beautiful and your chaos is charming.

So yeah.
This winter?
I got myself a boyfriend.
A Brammy.
A winter-woodland fairytale prince who chose ME.

And honestly?
Mom’s still my number one.
But Brammy is… a very close… extremely cute… dangerously sweet number two.

— Bunn
Pasture Princess
Woodland Heartthrob
Owner of One Very Good Brammy