Ryan has been waiting, some days patiently, other days not so much. There has been a scrap of notebook paper on the refrigerator since last fall with the tentative due dates for his goats, Rosie and Daisy. He has done his research and knows more about the goat birthing process than the goat herself. About a week ago, he slept in the barn next to Rosie, under a tarped-in shelter and snuggled into a sleeping bag.
Just to clarify: He was in the sleeping bag, not the goat.
A week passed and still no babies. Were the dates wrong? Then, when I came home from work Friday evening, he informed me that it would be "very soon" as Rosie had "bagged up". Yes, that's udder talk for you. Rosie was bunking in our old milk-house with piles of hay to bed in, fresh water, and essential oils diffusing to relax the pregnant goat. Okay, so maybe not the essential oils; Rosie thought that was a bit over-the-top. Ryan planned to go out around midnight to check on her, but as it sometimes happens, he fell asleep and slept through the night.
In the morning, Ryan opened his eyes, saw the daylight and headed to the barn, still closing his jacket as he hurried through the cold morning air, his breath streaming out in great puffs of white. Opening the milk-house door, he saw one little red goat, already on her feet. Running back to the house, he found me.
"Mom, Rosie is having her babies; she has one already and it looks like she's having another one."
It actually sounded more like this: "MomRosieishavingherbabiesshehasonealreadyanditlookslikesheshavinganotherone"
I hurried and got dressed, cleaned the spider webs out of my winter barn boots (no, I don't go out there much in the winter) and made my own breath trail as I hurried to the barn. I heard the insistent "baa-ing" of the baby before I even opened the door and then stepping inside, I see Ryan with not just one new baby, but two.
With an old towel, he was cradling the smaller, darker red goat. "Mom, I found this one over there in the corner and not in the hay. I don't know what Rosie was thinking. I don't know if it'll be okay; she's pretty cold."
She was cold, her ears, her feet, her body. I rubbed her vigorously with the towel to try to get some warmth going. Her head lolled to the side and she couldn't even attempt to stand. The other little one was active, walking around, buffing at Rosie to find some milk, but the little one I held in my arms had me worried.
Leo came home from a meeting at the church just then and wise farmer that he is, suggested Rosie and her babies be taken into the basement by the furnace. I stood up with the cold, quiet baby in my arms and Ryan handed me the other baby who was vigorously crying and trying to get away. If I could only get some of her vigor into the other one. I walked as fast as I could and quickly got her onto the top of the warm furnace. While Ryan watched them, I ran upstairs to warm up an old towel.
(Towels do catch on fire when heated for two minutes in a microwave. Not that I'd know from personal experience or anything.) I grabbed the bathroom heater and got it plugged in and focused on the wee goat who was actually now starting to perk up a bit.
Little by little, warmth began to infuse through this little dark red goat. Her eyes became more focused, she tried to stand, her crying became less frantic. I kept thinking, "THANK YOU GOD!!" Ryan (and me too!) would have been so sad if Little Red didn't make it.
Fast forward 24 hours:
I mean, could they be any more adorable?? One has Boer goat ears, the other has Pygmy goat ears and both are eating up a storm, frolicking about, and already trying to find things to nibble on.
As for names, I rather like Little Red, but in the end, Ryan went with Iris and Sushi. I think I need to go out and warn all my flowers, shrubs, anything remotely garden or plant related to "Look out!!" because I think, come Spring, these two might be better named Lawn Mower and Weed-Eater.
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Love,
Dianne
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