Cuddle Goat Farm, Princeton, KS (2026)

10/23/2024

Pickle has been sniffing out deals at Thriftopia in anticipation of the big weekend sale! We found this little farmers outfit in the pet section, which has a tremendous selection! We have gotten harnesses, dishes and all of the pet acutrements that can be so expensive when bought new. We couldn't wait until then weekend to get this outfit, It is too small for “Pickle” but got it for our Mexican Chi wa wa friend “Princess” and will be sending it to her soon! We keep a list of our friends and this gs they like and collect for when we find treasures when we are out “Thrifting!”

10/22/2024

🎉Guess where “Pickle” and my Girl friend will be this weekend? They will be taking advantage of incredible deals at Thriftopia in Ottawa, Kansas! My favorite store, they are having a huge 50% off sale on all merchandise, with the exception of Kansas City Chiefs gear. It’s the perfect time to snag some amazing finds at unbeatable prices! Plus, while you shop, don’t forget to sign up for their Customer Loyalty Program. And did you know? Thriftopia is also your local UPS package drop-off point—so you can thrift and ship all in one stop! Hurry in for the best deals and a shopping experience that’s as fun as it is affordable!

10/15/2024

There was nothing but bramble and brush the first day I was here!

I first met the old pear tree at the top of the driveway more than 50 years ago, when it was just a young sapling and I was barely more than a boy. I can still remember helping my father clear the land, the two of us sweating under the Kansas sun, determined to carve out our future here. That tree wasn’t much at the time, but it already felt like it belonged, like it was meant to stand there, marking the place that would become Cuddle Goat Farm.

Back then, our home was a modest trailer house, the kind that barely held the essentials but somehow fit our whole world inside. That young pear tree shaded its roof, offering a little relief on hot days. As we cleared more of the land, I’d often glance at it, wondering how tall it might grow, whether it would survive the wild winds and harsh winters. Turns out, it was tougher than I gave it credit for—just like me, I suppose.

Over time, that trailer gave way to a cabin I built with my own hands, from trees we hewed right here on the land. The tree stood watch as I laid the foundation, as if it was silently approving of the progress. With each log I placed, with each swing of the hammer, that cabin took shape, and the tree was there through it all, its branches growing stronger with every passing year.

I spent countless afternoons beneath that tree. I’d sit in its shade, playing with the dogs—first as a kid, and then as a man with dogs of my own. They’d race around the trunk, tails wagging, while I just took in the peace of the farm. Those moments were simple but perfect. Time moved slower under that tree, or at least it felt like it did. I’d wax the cars there too, one after another, each one a chapter in my life—each one parked in the same spot under that same tree.

Holidays were always special at Cuddle Goat Farm, and that tree was often in the background, whether we realized it or not. Family pictures were taken under its branches—first just me and my folks, later with friends, and eventually, with dogs by my side, all of us older, but somehow the tree never changed. Its leaves turned gold in the fall, just like the ones we raked up as kids, and its blossoms were a sign that spring had come again, promising new beginnings.

Now, in the autumn of my own life, I can’t help but look at that pear tree and marvel at what it’s witnessed. From that first summer when I was just a boy, to the man I am today, it’s been there through it all. It’s seen the years pass, the changes on the farm, the laughter, the quiet moments, and the bittersweet goodbyes. It’s grown up alongside me, standing tall and silent, offering its shade, its shelter, and its quiet comfort.

Sometimes, when the wind blows through its branches, I swear I can hear the echoes of all those years gone by. And in those moments, I feel a deep gratitude for that old pear tree at the top of the driveway, for all it’s seen and all it’s given me. It’s not just a tree—it’s a part of my life, a witness to my story, from the bright days of my youth to the gentle twilight of these days.

10/14/2024

This dog cracks me up! We went through a big patch of “stick-tights” when we got home I brushed her out and picked them off of her. A few minutes later, I looked down and she was picking them off my socks for me! What more could you ask for from a friend!

10/10/2024

The Great Cuddle Goat Farm Rescue

Deep in the heart of an enchanted forest, nestled among towering trees and meandering brooks, lay Cuddle Goat Farm. It was a place of peace and love, where Farmer Tim lived with his three loyal dogs and a herd of friendly goats. The star of the farm was a little goat named Baby Goat, cherished by Farmer Tim and adored by everyone who visited.

Captain Jack, the golden retriever with the bear-like teeth, was the wise elder of the dogs. Though age had slowed his movements, his mind remained sharp, and he carried himself with the authority of a pirate captain. Puppy, the black Labrador retriever, was more quiet and shy but held the heart of a lion. Having been rescued by Farmer Tim years ago, Puppy was fiercely protective of his family. Lastly, there was Pickle, the quick-footed blue heeler, who herded the goats with precision and wore her hiking vest like a badge of honor. Together, the three dogs were a formidable team, but they had never faced a challenge like the one they were about to encounter.

One crisp autumn morning, a group of bandits descended on Cuddle Goat Farm. They were ruthless men, rough and hardened by a life of crime. They stormed the farm, captured Farmer Tim, and locked him in the big farmhouse. They sn**ched Baby Goat, locking her in the cellar. Their demands were simple but impossible: one million dollars, or they would kill both Farmer Tim and Baby Goat.

The dogs watched in horror from the cover of the barn, their hearts pounding with fear for their beloved farmer and Baby Goat. As the bandits holed up in the farmhouse, Captain Jack, Puppy, and Pickle huddled together to come up with a plan.

“We can’t just charge in,” Captain Jack said, his deep voice calm but commanding. “They’re armed, and we have to be smart.”

Pickle’s sharp mind was already racing. “I’ll be the scout. I’m fast enough to sneak around the house without being seen. We need to know where they’re keeping Baby Goat and Farmer Tim before we make our move.”

“Good idea,” said Puppy, his eyes narrowing with determination. “I’ll create a distraction when the time is right. They won’t expect an old dog like me to cause any trouble.”

“And I’ll lead the final charge,” Captain Jack growled. “Once you’ve freed Farmer Tim and Baby Goat, I’ll deal with the outlaws.”

The plan was set.

Pickle darted off, her paws barely making a sound as she circled the farmhouse. She sniffed the air, catching the scent of Baby Goat in the cellar. Through a small, dusty window, she saw Baby Goat tied up but unharmed. She then crept to the back of the farmhouse, peeking through a crack in the door. Farmer Tim was sitting in a chair, hands tied, but he looked unhurt. The bandits were laughing and drinking, confident that no one would dare to stop them.

Pickle raced back to the barn. “Baby Goat’s in the cellar, and Farmer Tim’s in the house. They’re both okay, but we need to move fast.”

“Good work, Pickle,” Captain Jack said. “Puppy, it’s your turn.”

Puppy trotted out into the open field, his black fur blending with the shadows of the trees. He positioned himself near the farmhouse and began barking loudly, wagging his tail as if he was just an old farm dog looking for attention. One of the bandits glanced out the window and saw him.

“Hey, look at this dumb dog,” the bandit sneered. “Probably thinks we’re here to feed him.”

The bandits laughed, and one of them opened the door to shoo Puppy away. But as soon as the door opened, Puppy leaped forward with a growl, knocking the man off his feet. The sudden commotion sent the bandits into a frenzy.

“Get that dog!” one of them shouted.

As they scrambled to deal with Puppy, Pickle zipped around the back of the house. She slipped through the cellar window and gnawed at the ropes binding Baby Goat. In no time, the prized goat was free, and the two slipped out the window without a sound. Pickle guided Baby Goat back to the safety of the barn.

Meanwhile, Captain Jack was ready. As the bandits chased Puppy around the yard, the old retriever charged toward the open farmhouse door. With a deep growl that could rival a grizzly bear’s roar, Captain Jack slammed into the remaining bandits. His massive jaws clamped onto one of their belts, dragging him to the ground. The bandits were no match for Captain Jack’s ferocity and Pirate’s spirit.

In the chaos, Pickle sneaked inside and untied Farmer Tim. “Good girl,” he whispered, rubbing her head before grabbing an old shotgun from his mantle. Together, they stormed out to confront the bandits, who had already been worn down by Captain Jack and Puppy’s attack.

Seeing Farmer Tim armed and their comrades defeated, the bandits fled into the forest, never to return.

With the threat gone, the dogs gathered around Farmer Tim and Baby Goat. “You brave, wonderful dogs,” Tim said, kneeling to hug them all. “I knew I could count on you.”

Captain Jack gave a slow, satisfied wag of his tail. “Another day, another victory for Captain Jack and his crew.”

And from that day forward, the legend of the Great Cuddle Goat Farm Rescue spread far and wide, a story of loyalty, courage, and the unbreakable bond between a farmer and his heroic dogs.

10/09/2024

Halloween stories from Cuddle Goat Farm!

Captain Jack stood proudly at the helm of his ship, the Golden Rover, his golden fur rippling in the salty wind. His once-bright coat was now streaked with silver, and his movements, while still graceful, carried the wisdom of a dog who had seen many adventures. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, scanned the horizon for the next great treasure—or perhaps just a quiet beach to rest.

He wasn’t the young pup he used to be, racing across decks with boundless energy, but Captain Jack had grown into something more—an old sea dog, wise and respected by all who knew him. His crew of mismatched animals followed his commands without question. Cats perched lazily on the rigging, chickens strutted on deck, and Bartholomew the goat, his longtime first mate, stood nearby, chewing some hay. Bartholomew’s loyalty had grown over the years, and while he still grumbled, he never left Jack’s side.

“Steady as she goes,” Jack murmured to himself. The Golden Rover glided smoothly through the calm waters. The treasure hunts were fewer now, and the battles with rival pirates—especially that pesky Pirate Paws—had slowed to a trickle. But Jack still felt the call of adventure in his old bones, and as long as the sea stretched out before him, he would answer it.

Today, the air was cool, and the sun hung low in the sky. Captain Jack closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of the ocean air, savoring the peaceful moment. But even as he stood there, he felt a soft tugging at the edges of his mind, pulling him back, back to a place he knew just as well as the high seas.

The ship began to blur, and the sounds of waves crashing against the hull faded into the soft bleating of goats. Jack opened his eyes. He was no longer on the deck of the Golden Rover, but on a familiar patch of grass at Cuddle Goat Farm.

He blinked, taking in the warm, earthy smells of the farm, and a slow smile spread across his muzzle. Bartholomew was still at his side, as always, munching on grass. Jack’s joints were a little stiff these days, but he managed to stand up, shaking off the remnants of his pirate dream. He stretched lazily, feeling the warmth of the sun on his fur, and wagged his tail.

Cuddle Goat Farm had been his home for years now, and it had become his harbor. The days of wild chases and daring raids were behind him, but Jack found peace in the rhythm of farm life. He had friends here—human and animal alike—and though he was slower and slept more these days, his heart was full.

He strolled over to the goats, giving them a gentle nudge with his nose, just to make sure they were where they should be. Bartholomew gave him a sidelong glance, clearly unbothered by the attention, and continued chewing on his grass. Jack wandered on, making his rounds like the seasoned farm dog he had become, his tail wagging gently as he checked in on his territory.

But even in this quiet, peaceful life, Captain Jack still felt the spark of adventure. Sometimes, while resting in the shade of the old oak tree, he would gaze out at the horizon and imagine the wide ocean stretching before him, just as it had in his dreams. In his heart, he was still Captain Jack, the swashbuckling golden retriever, brave and true.

And in the quiet moments, when the world around him settled and the farm animals drifted off to sleep, Jack would let his mind wander back to the sea. He’d picture himself on the Golden Rover again, not as the young, spry pup he once was, but as the wise, older captain he had become—still charting new courses, even if only in his dreams.

For even though Cuddle Goat Farm was his home, and he loved every bit of it, Captain Jack would always be a pirate at heart. And in those dreams, on those vast seas, he knew that the spirit of adventure would stay with him, no matter how many silver streaks lined his golden fur.

10/09/2024

Farmer Tim awoke with a start, his head spinning from a strange and vivid dream. Rubbing his eyes, he stepped out of bed, only to realize something was terribly wrong. The familiar sights and sounds of his farm had been turned upside down.

Instead of the usual bleating of goats from the pasture, he heard the loud, authoritative voices of… goats? He peered out the window and was met with an unbelievable sight: the goats were everywhere, strutting around like they owned the place. But these weren’t ordinary goats. No, these goats were walking upright, wearing overalls, and barking orders.

“Get a move on, Tim! It’s milking time!” a familiar voice hollered. Tim turned to see the lead goat, Bartholomew, dressed in Tim’s old flannel shirt and work boots, standing with his hooves on his hips, looking quite serious. A bucket and stool were slung over his shoulder. Tim blinked in disbelief—was Bartholomew giving him instructions?

He quickly realized that all around the farm, goats were acting as farmers. A group of them stood by the barn, trying to fix the fence with clumsy hooves, while others were driving the tractor—though not very well, as the tractor was doing more circles than straight lines. One goat, slightly smaller, was holding a clipboard, bleating loudly as it conducted what looked like some sort of goat inventory.

Tim glanced down at himself and gasped. He wasn’t wearing his usual farm clothes but a simple collar and bell. His hands felt clumsier than usual, and when he tried to speak, only a soft “baaah” came out. He ran to the barn mirror, and his heart dropped—he had turned into a goat!

“Time to start grazing, Tim!” Bartholomew called again, tapping his hoof impatiently. “We’ve got work to do today, and we expect you to pull your weight!”

In his dazed state, Tim trotted along obediently, led to a fenced-off pasture where a few other humans-turned-goats were already grazing in the grass. He looked at his fellow “farmhands” in disbelief. They, too, were bleating, unable to speak, their former human forms now clothed in fur and hooves. The roles had been completely reversed—humans were the livestock, and goats were the farmers.

Bartholomew and his goat companions took their jobs seriously, though their approach to farming was far from efficient. They tried to collect eggs from the chicken coop, but more eggs ended up cracked on the ground than in their baskets. They attempted to water the crops, but their hooves struggled to grip the watering cans, leading to some very soggy soil. Even their attempts at herding the humans-turned-goats were chaotic; they barked orders that no one understood, and every now and then, they would just give up and start chewing on a fence post.

Meanwhile, Tim tried to make sense of his new goat life. He chewed the grass out of instinct, but it tasted strange. The other “goats” seemed equally confused, occasionally bumping into each other as they stumbled around the pasture. Some of the goats—who were now the humans—peered in with mild curiosity, as though inspecting them for quality.

As the day wore on, chaos only grew. The goats-turned-farmers were attempting to cook lunch, with disastrous results. One of them had managed to start a fire while attempting to fry vegetables, and another was walking around with a book titled Goat Farming for Dummies, held upside down. But despite all the confusion, there was something oddly charming about it all. The goats tried their best, bleating words of encouragement to each other, stumbling through tasks with a mixture of determination and clumsiness.

As the sun began to set, Tim found himself lying in the pasture, watching Bartholomew try to milk a fellow human-turned-goat who was none too happy about the situation. He shook his head, feeling both amusement and confusion.

At last, the sun dipped below the horizon, and the goats, exhausted from their day’s work, gathered the humans-turned-goats into the barn. Bartholomew approached Tim, patting him awkwardly on the back with a hoof. “Good work today, Tim. Same time tomorrow!”

Tim bleated in confusion, wondering if he was destined to live out the rest of his life as a goat under the rule of a very well-meaning but utterly incompetent herd of goats.

But just as Bartholomew closed the barn door, the world around Tim began to blur. The soft bleating of the goats, the swaying grass, the smell of hay—it all faded. He opened his eyes, heart racing, and found himself back in his bed. The sunlight was streaming in through the window, and the familiar sound of goats bleating outside reached his ears.

He jumped up, ran to the window, and looked out to see the farm exactly as it had been. The goats were still goats, happily munching on grass in the field, and he was still Farmer Tim.

He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “What a dream,” he muttered, stepping outside to start his day. But as he passed by Bartholomew, he couldn’t help but feel that the goat gave him a knowing look—a mischievous glint in his eye, as if he had been there too, ruling the farm in Tim’s wild dream.

10/08/2024

Scary Halloween stories from,
“Cuddle Goat Farm”:
The Tale of Puppy

Cuddle Goat Farm had always been a peaceful place, a haven where visitors could escape the chaos of life to cuddle with the gentle goats and wander the sunlit fields. But beneath the surface of that tranquility, a darkness loomed. And only one being knew about it: an old black Labrador dog named “Puppy.”

Puppy had been abandoned on the road in front of the farm as a small pup, left to fend for himself. Farmer Tim who owned Cuddle Goat Farm had taken him in, giving him love and shelter, but from the very beginning, Puppy was different. Though loyal and affectionate, he was haunted by terrible nightmares, plagued by an endless sense of dread. Each night, he whined and shivered in his sleep, chased by horrors that no one else could see. Farmer Tim assumed Puppy’s trauma stemmed from his early abandonment, but he had no idea that “Puppies” nightmares were real!

For as long as anyone could remember, Puppy had been fighting a battle they couldn’t comprehend. A force of darkness, an ancient and evil werewolf vampire spirit, had chosen Cuddle Goat Farm as its hunting ground. The spirit craved the souls of the living, and every full moon, it returned, stalking the farm in the dead of night. But it had met its match in Puppy, who had stood as the farm’s guardian since his arrival. Each month, Puppy fought the spirit in a brutal, bloody battle to protect the family he loved.

The creature was terrible—a hulking, shifting mass of fur, claws, and glowing red eyes that seemed to burn with malice. It had no solid form, changing between wolf, bat, and something worse. It could move through the shadows, unseen by anyone but Puppy, and it hungered for the souls of everyone on the farm.

But Puppy was no ordinary dog. Despite his constant fear and trauma, he had something that the spirit could never understand: love. It was his love for the family that kept him fighting, month after month, year after year, even as the battles took a greater toll on his aging body.

Every full moon, Puppy would disappear into the night, and by morning, he was found bloodied and bruised, his fur matted with dirt and his body aching. Farmer Tim assumed he was fighting coyotes or wild dogs, and each time, he treated his wounds as best he could. But as the years passed, Puppy’s body began to weaken. He grew slower, his once-strong muscles turning stiff with age. The nightmares worsened, and with each full moon, the battles became harder. Puppy knew his time was running out.

And then came the October full moon.

That night, the air was colder than usual, the sky clear and bright under the looming moon. The goats were restless, bleating nervously in their pens, sensing something was wrong. Puppy limped to the edge of the farm, his body aching with age, his breath coming in shallow gasps. But he knew he had to fight. This would be the worst battle yet—he could feel the spirit growing stronger.

The creature arrived as it always did, slipping through the shadows like smoke, its red eyes gleaming in the darkness. It howled, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Puppy’s spine. But despite his fear, Puppy stood his ground, baring his teeth and growling low in his throat.

The battle was fierce. The creature lunged at Puppy, claws slashing through the air, teeth snapping at his flesh. Puppy dodged and fought back, using every ounce of strength he had. But his body was old, his muscles tired, and the creature was relentless, driving him back again and again.

For a moment, it seemed as if Puppy would lose. The creature pinned him to the ground, its foul breath hot against his face, its claws digging into his side. Puppy could feel his body giving out, the strength slipping away. But as he lay there, staring up at the monstrous red eyes of the spirit, something deep inside him surged.

Puppy thought of the family. He thought of the farm. He thought of all the love and kindness they had shown him, of the goats he had protected, and the warmth of the home that had saved him. And in that moment, something changed.

A fire burned in Puppy’s chest, stronger than anything he had felt before. He pushed back with a strength that defied his age, his jaws snapping around the creature’s neck. The spirit screeched, thrashing wildly as Puppy held on, refusing to let go. With one final surge of power, Puppy bit down harder, his teeth sinking into the creature’s dark flesh.

The spirit howled in agony, its form shifting and dissolving as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. The red in its eyes faded, and it let out one last ear-splitting screech before it dissolved into a cloud of shadow and disappeared, vanquished for the first time in over a century.

Panting, bloodied, and bruised, Puppy stood there, watching the light of the rising sun wash over the farm. His body was weak, his legs trembling, but he was alive. More than that—he had won. The evil spirit was gone.

Puppy limped back to the farmhouse, his old bones aching with every step, but he held his head high. The nightmare was finally over. He collapsed onto the porch, exhausted, but safe. The family would never know what he had done, the battles he had fought to protect them, but that didn’t matter to Puppy.

Farmer Tim found him the next morning, as he always did, bruised and tired, but still alive. The farm was quiet and peaceful again, and though Puppy was older and slower, he had done what no one else could—he had saved Cuddle Goat Farm from a terror they would never even know existed.

Puppy remains the faithful guardian of the farm. His body may have weakened, but his heart is stronger than ever. He has fought evil and won, and as long as Puppy lives, the farm will be safe!

10/06/2024

Puppy is the “keeper” of the food! I stocked them up for a month or so. I left a bag on the porch for the day. He is so very vigilant. Every time I go out side he makes his little “chirps” and noises and directs me to the food to make me aware that It has not yet been put into the food barrel!

10/06/2024

Ms “Pickle Trickel” fits into our pack quite well! It is amazing how much of a change can be affected by a little female influence. We do not have the constant struggle for dominance and hierarchy that there was with “Gizmo” the little brown dog. Both ”Puppy” and “Captain Jack” have accepted “Pickle” and are pretty neutral about her presence. They share the same food bowl and she shares in the assorted pieces of scavenged carrion and other animal carcasses that they seem to find and accumulatein the yard.

Pickle is markedly more intelligent and agile than the other two dogs. It is interesting to see how she navigates around them and her environment quickly and smartly. Many times the other dogs have a look on their face like, “What was that?”

If she wants to chew on a knarled old deer bone, rather than attempting to take it from one of the other dogs in a direct forceful assault, she will patiently wait until they are distracted and sneak in, sn**ch her prize, and quickly retreat to enjoy her newly purloined treat acting if it had been hers the entire time!

She is extremely alert and aware of her surroundings, she signals when there is a threat, and the hair on her back and hackles show when danger is near!

Like most “females” she attempts her little “sh*t” tests from time to time, not only on myself, but the male dogs!

In the canine world, the power structure of the pack is all-important. If there is not a dominant leader the other pack members will be in a constant state of competition, this will create uncertainty and infighting amongst the pack members. It is our responsibility as humans to take control of our pack and demonstrate to them that we are in charge, and our actions serve the needs of the pack and its best interest! This in turn will allow our pets the freedom to live their lives in a way that is comfortable and enjoyable to them! Service to the pack in turn is what they enjoy the most!

10/05/2024

Years ago my brother and I had a fascination with “Chinese puzzle boxes” Bud bought his first one from the “Johnson and Smith” catalog. I purchased my first one from the “Pier 1” import store. Over the years we collected them and had fun with them. As we got older and had more money they got a little more complicated and fancy. There are about 5 or 6 basic boxes that comprise the majority of the “Chinese puzzle box” market. We had all of those and as kids, we played with them all the time and the combination of moves became engrained in “muscle” memory over the years! We could open them in a few seconds, literally with our eyes closed.

Last week I was at a garage sale and spied this little puzzle box sitting on a table with a .25 cent sticker on it. I quizzed the older gentlemen at the Sale, asking him what it was. He said he didn't know exactly what it was, but it was hollow and there was something inside of it, he thought it was a bank of some kind. I asked him if he could open it, he replied no! I was joking with him and said it probably has a hundred-dollar bill in it. He joked that maybe he would break it open with a hammer. I told him I would take a chance for 25 cents.

I handed him .25 and asked again, “So I can keep what is inside?” He laughed and said yes! I then deftly opened the box, it took less than 5 seconds to open it, and that old muscle memory kicked in! Guess what was inside? What a surprise! It indeed was a hundred-dollar bill. We were all surprised speechless!

I offered it to him, I could tell he wanted to say “yes” but was having a moral dilemma! He put his hand out, then, quickly retracted it, saying “A deal is a deal.” The look on his wife's face was priceless!

These folks lived in a very nice house with nice cars and an RV. They were retired and did not appear to be hurting for money. However, it is interesting how something like a $100 bill can create a dilemma! I could see it on his face. After a moment he shook his head, smiled, and repeated the fact that “a deal is a deal”.

I reached into my wallet and fished out a $50 bill handed it to him and said, we should at least split the difference, “share the wealth so to speak” I told him. He took the fifty-dollar bill in his hand, looked at it, then handed it back to me and stated once again “A deal is a deal.” I then handed it back and said, “At least let me buy you and your wife dinner!” He took it and smiled, shook my hand and said, “Deal!” I could see a pained look of relief on his wife's face.

It is funny what the power of money and possible treasure or lost treasure can have on people! The power of kindness is even greater. Had I left that day and taken the money, I would have had lingering doubts and would have questioned my choice for the rest of my life. Had he taken the money, he would have felt the same. I feel that when we are blessed with unexpected treasure we should be thankful for our blessing, but the real reward is in sharing with others!

Cuddle Goat Farm

10/23/2024

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