Some mornings I discover cute newborn goat babies in the barn, happily romping around and calling for their mamas. That’s one of the joys of this life.
Some mornings I discover dead kids. That’s one of the crappy things about this life. And one of the things that make it real.
Yesterday morning I found newborn triplets in a barn stall–two dead and one barely alive. Fancy, their mother, had seemingly abandoned them.
I warmed up the survivor and gave her a little milk from Squeaky’s bottle. Fancy was in the back part of the pasture and I wanted to ring her neck. She hadn’t cleaned and warmed the babies and seemed to have no interest in tending to the living kid.
Later I caught her and dragged her into the stall with the kid, to try to compel her to take care of it. It was then that we noticed that she was anemic.
Now I’m worried about her too. The mamas are tough and almost always recover from tough pregnancies. But she’s clearly not well.
The little kid is taking the bottle, but hasn’t gotten any strength in her hind legs yet. They rarely survive under those conditions.
Not the way we wanted to end this kidding season.