We headed out to the county fair yesterday to commune with the animals and, of course, to sample the food.

Yum.

As soon as we got there we headed straight for the apple dumplings with vanilla bean ice cream and warm caramel sauce. Good stuff.

 

From there we wandered the midways (are there midways in fairs, or is that just carnivals, amusement parks and circuses? Don't know, and am too lazy to look it up) and came upon the potato pancake stand where of course I had to indulge. (I don't think I've ever met a potato I haven't liked. Gave me the urge to make a big batch of latkes.  

On to fresh-squeezed lemonade (aren't you hungry yet?) and then, at long last, we finally found the funnel cakes. Best funnel cake, ever. I have a recipe for these babies and I think I may give it too a whirl someday soon.

 

After ravaging the foodstands, we headed over to the open barns so I could satisfy my yearly urge to pet a cow, goat, pig, etc.. And we met some beauties, although we did manage to get there right at suppertime and petting definitely fell second to food. Sigh.



Goat luring. Notice the crooked finger? Goats love that.

Actually, I just made that up. I think it was my perfume because the pigs went wild over it and I actually got nervous, they were so crazy to get to me.



Ah well, we must have missed that shot.

I was too eager, I guess, to get to the beautiful Jersey cows with their big, dark, doe eyes and long, fluttery eyelashes. But again, it was suppertime...



and the buckets of feed were more alluring than being petted. Wretchedness.



There she is. I am an absolute sucker for those eyes.

And then, finding small satisfaction here, I ended up accosting a very nice girl on the way back from the cow washing station (yes, there really is such a thing. Who knew?) and asked if I could pet the calf. I think she thought I was nuts -- actually, I think most of the livestock-raisers thought I was nuts because I wasn't eyeing these animals to see how they'd fit under my knife and fork but just wanting to pet and be nice to them. What can I say? I like my animals alive, and just going about their animal business.



After disturbing the livestocks' dinner we headed into the rabbit building where it was mind-boggling for me, for sure. Being in a room FILLED with beautiful, fuzzy, nose-twitching bunnies of all shapes and sizes killed me. I have said it before and I'll say it again, because it hasn't changed any: I couldn't take having houserabbits. I would die of a cuteness overload. It would also be a fabulous way to go.

We couldn't take any pictures there because apparently we had intruded on the five minutes before the judging was to take place, and so we admired them from afar and I tried to commit at least one of my favorites to memory. I think it was a smoky lionhead? Something like that. The fuzziest bunny I'd ever seen. I have to stop talking about them now because I can feel the cuteness level rising.

After a refill on the lemonade and several bags of smoked almonds and sugar-crisped cashews  -- yum -- we headed over to the games, where my gallant bf won me not only a stuffed turtle but also a stuffed calf (stuffed animal calf, not a real, stuffed dead one. Ugh.) because I'd been bemoaning my calf-less state and the stuffed one was way cheaper (and smaller) than a real one. 

So, I am still without livestock. That's not a bad thing, as:

A. I have never been the caretaker of large farm animals, and undoubtedly have a rather romanticized view of a cow, goat, sheep, etc.. Kind of a Mary had a little lamb thing.

B. Most of my animals have found me and so unless a lost goat wanders up to my front door, there's a good chance I'll never have one.

C. I'm assuming you can spay them? 

D. They would be treated like my companion animals, not meant to do anything except enchant and receive petting, and would be with me until the end. So, how long do cows live, anyway? Their natural lives, I mean. (And don't say 120 years, like giant tortoises.)

E. And last but not least, I'm thinking they're all herd animals and would die of loneliness by themselves -- I flunked pasture grazing -- so that means they'd have to come two-by-two and now we're getting into some serious manure, so...

I will continue to indulge my livestock jones once a year at the fair. Chickens, on the other hand, are small, light and portable. They even fit into cat carriers. Something to think about.

Have a great Labor Day weekend!