The kid we call Squeaky arrived here under mysterious circumstances. I found him in a barn stall one morning. He was a big healthy-looking kid who seemed to be about one day old. He was crying for his mother, but it seemed to me that he’d eaten before.
I checked all the likely candidates and could find no goat that had just given birth. I carried him around the herd and no one claimed him and he didn’t behave as if he knew any of them. Strange.
After about a day no one had claimed him, so we decided to start bottle feeding him. He had yelled himself hoarse so Cherie named him Squeaky.
Now, about a month later, he is a big spoiled rascal. He lets out piercing screams anytime he sees one of us and has no regard for the electric fence (even though I’ve seen it knock him flat).
Of all the bottle-babies we’ve had, he’s the easiest to feed. He can chug down a bottle of milk in a flash.
Sometimes he comes through the fence to follow me around while I do my chores.
It’s a pity I don’t have a video of what happens when he follows me into the chicken coop when I go in to collect eggs. Having never had a goat on the premises, the chickens panic and freak out. Squeaky tries to climb up onto their feed barrel, but finds the birds uninteresting.
The last storm took down a big dead sweet gum tree in the pasture and I’ve been cutting it up for firewood. Squeaky finds my work fascinating.
He’s quite a character.