Once upon a time...


There was a Dairy Farmer.
And this dairy farmer was not like other dairy farmers.
He was special.
He did not raise nice flocks of Bleets.
He did not own nice herds of Moohs.
He did not, actually, own any sort of milk giving creature at all.

Some people got very upset at this after driving to his farm, and demanded he change his sign. It was a very long drive, actually, 5 miggles down a dirt road with spooky trees that made scary munching noises. (The visitors hunched inside their Vrumes and tried to hurry through the shadows to the farmhouse ahead.)

The farmer always heard them out patiently.
After the grumpy non-customers finished waving their hands around and stomping on his non-Mooh-eaten grass, he would hold up his hand.

Then he would make a curious munching sound with his mouth. The visitors always looked at him like he was crazy, at this point (with the exception of small children, who totally understood and began looking around eagerly. If the visitors had brought their Yapps, they normally began yapping as they jumped around.)

The farmer would repeat his call. Suddenly, the woods would echo with the same call, and giant creatures that oddly resembled leggy caterpillars would come strolling down the lane, leaving the road in bright sunshine. (This was usually a great shock to any secondary arrivals of visitors. Most farmers, dairy or not, did not own changing roads.)

The farmer (and the certain small children) would fondly smile and reach up their hands as the huge green and fluffy creatures bent down, making their customary NOMNOMNOM noises. (At this point, delicate females among the visitors were known to faint, and nondelicate males were known to turn an interesting shade of creamy white.)

And the farmer would turn innocently back to the visitors with a smile and say, "Now, what were you wanting to see my farm of Dairs for?"

The End.