Baby Goats

| 2/7/2014 10:38:00 AM

Tags: goats, Tennessee, Betty Taylor,

IMG_1120.JPGThe natural world is as brutal as it is beautiful. Life and death spiral around each other like yin and yang. You don’t get one without the other. And so it is with goat farming and baby goats!

Last week, a riot of healthy, gamboling goat kids burst forth onto Persimmon Ridge Goat and Honey Farm, pushing away January’s cold dreariness as if it were a heavy theater curtain before a lively spring production. Babies appeared within days of one another, defying the polar vortex with their vim and vigor. I giddily but impotently attended every birth, marveling at each doe’s competence.

Almost as soon as her kid arrived, diving out nose and front hooves first, mom attended it, licking away the caul from around its nose and drying its coat before the freezing weather could chill the newborn.

Amazingly, each kid pushed itself up on wobbly legs and searched for and found the teat with no interference from me. Simply amazing!


Until the last doe.

Reba, my red and white doe, had grown bigger than the others. Maybe she was going to have twins? triplets? All the signs of labor came. Her udder filled, the ligaments on either side of her tail “melted” away, her mucous plug dislodged--but no labor and no kid. I was sure she was going to kid on Thursday as she became restless, couldn’t get comfortable, did not eat, and moved about getting up and laying down only to get up again.

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