Life over at the goat farm has been unbelievably busy. Kids are falling out of does constantly. Last night I came in to milk and Blue Bell had just given birth to two adorable squeeky little girls. They were happily playing and nudging at her teat. Baby animals bring joy into the hearts of many, myself included.
But like anything in life there is another side to kidding season. Not all the kids make it. Yesterday morning was one harsh reality check. I came into the barn at 7am and Georgia was in her kidding pen looking exhausted with two dead babies on the ground next to her. I went in and sat with her, trying to feed her grain that she was not interested in. I felt the babies, which were still warm. I shook them and wiped the gunk off their little faces, but they were lifeless and limp, not breathing.
Within a few minutes Larry was out there with his arm inside Georgia almost to the elbow to see if there were still any babies inside of her. The answer was yes, there were two and they were very much entangled in each other. With gentleness and patience Larry wrestled inside Georgia's birth canal for half an hour. Georgia was exhausted but in a last ditch effort to save her own life, and possibly that of her kids, she gave a hard push. Finally he got two legs that belonged to the same goat. I held my breath praying that the kid would be alive when it came out. It flopped on the ground and the farmer pumped its chest a few times to try and get it breathing, but no luck. It was dead.
The last one came out easily. It too was dead. There they lay on the ground, four dead bucklings. They were all very big and black with white markings on their faces. Immediately tears welled up in my eyes and my throat tightened. Jan sent me to mix some warm water, molasses and a touch of cider vinegar. I did so with a clear mind and fast hands, I like to think I'm good in emergencies. Georgia gladly lapped up the warm, sweet drink and once I saw that she was well enough to take it, I left the barn.
Rain was falling from the sky as I made my way to the bathroom. I closed the door behind me, put down the toilet cover and sat there on the pot, pants on, head in hands. I cried. There was nothing to be said, the doe was still alive and the four babies were all males, which are of little to no value to the dairy farmer. But still, four lives were taken before they could even begin and it was sad. I collected myself and scurried back to the barn. I tended to the other kids to keep myself busy, cleaning their stalls and playing with them.
Days later Georgia still looked a mess, confused as to the whereabouts of her offspring, she spent a couple of days looking around in bewilderment. Jan and Larry assured me I had just witnessed the worst possible kidding situation (except for if we had lost the mama). For a moment I questioned whether this is something I could commit my time to doing, season after season, year after year, knowing that kids would die and I would just have to be okay with it.
The answer is yes. It's a fact I can handle. But still, whenever I see Georgia I give her an extra dose of behind-the-ears scratchy love.
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