black dog stout
But my Black Dog Stout came out smooth and slick, black as night and tasting slightly of chocolate and brown sugar. It might well be over-carbonated itself but the beer is so dark and thick you can't tell. Or rather, I can't tell. I adore it. I plan on making four more gallons of the stuff before Christmas.
It's a damp night here in Washington County. The farm's sluggish as most farms are when it's cold and wet outside. The sheep ate their hay fast and then stomped up the hill for shelter in their sheds. The chickens are a sorry looking bunch, all wet and ragged. I watched Upset jump on one of the meat bird's backs and bite right into his comb, causing some blood to cascade off. I yelled at him, and ran inside to grab the Bag Balm. I decided right then and there that any bird that looks like Chuck Klosterman on this farm will probably end up being an asshole. Upset, as it turns out, is quite upsetting. He'll make great soup, though. I should have named him Silver Lining.
The dogs are downstairs, suspiciously quiet. The only dog that usually comes up to the farm office while I'm writing is Jazz. I even have a bed up here by my desk, and he makes it his while I type and yet even he is downstairs. I am guessing there is much plotting going on and I'm going to head down to suss it out. I hope you all stay dry and warm. If your place is anything like here, a stout beer and watching Braveheart for the 34 jillionth time is all this barometer is good for.