To have milk, you need to have babies. It’s an unavoidable fact. And this milk year, because I was unable to get our doeling pregnant (our daughter was in the hospital during Ivy’s last heat of the year) we ended up buying a pregnant doeling from a local dairy. Willow, the pregnant goat, has been an adorable addition to our herd. It’s too bad the other goats don’t feel the way about Willow that we do, however!
Because Willow is tiny AND bullied, we’ve been having her sleep elsewhere. Goats hate being separated; they’re herd animals, after all, and in Willow’s mind, she’d much rather be head-butted than be alone, even just at night. Poor thing. I took heart in the fact that she could deliver soon, and she’d at least have her kids for company.
Problem was, we didn’t know when she would kid. Unlike my other does who have driveway dates to get pregnant (thus I hang my hat on a solid due date 155 days after their visit) I just had to wait and watch with Willow. “Watching” basically means I felt her up and hung over her, daily…and “waiting” means I have been doing it since mid-March. But on Saturday, all signs pointed to a Cinco de Mayo baby goat or two.
Not two baby kids, though; one kid. Sabine made her way into the world only with our help. She’s huge; she’s nearly a quarter the size of her mother in length and height but not weight. And her cramped quarters weren’t helpful; she was born with a badly twisted leg and foot…a splint is helping those flexible young bones to straighten out and develop normally.
The bonus, of course, is that she’s a girl, and she’s a lusty eater. But poor Willow!