One of our goats gave birth this week. At like dark-thirty in the morning.
It was her first pregnancy, and, unfortunately, the baby was stillborn. I worked on it for a good ten minutes—rubbing, clearing the lungs, blowing into his mouth and nose—but things didn’t work out.
Sadly, this is how farming works. Animals are unpredictable, and you are told to expect to lose 40% of your stock to illness, predators, and the Unexplained. We cleaned things up and went inside to get our day started.
Two hours later, one of my younger sisters came up to report the goat was down again. I called the vet, thinking milk fever or something similar, and went down with her.
Just in time to save this little character from inside his birth sack.
Look at him.
He’s so tiny and cute.
In all, she had three kids. Two were stillborn, and one is now happily trotting after my sister wherever she goes.
Apparently, according to a neighbor with a herd of goats, this seems to be a year for stillbirths. She’s had more this year than ever before.
Maybe it’s something in the hay?
Anyway, we’re very happy to have at least one prancing around. And our new mother is doing fabulously, which is always a relief.
Oh, and my sister and I are freakin’ heroes.
Which is always fun.