The Cost of Caring: When Innocent Creatures Suffer

   

     Goats are God's definition of joy in a critter body. Minutes after they are born, they are up on their little goat feet and within their first hour they're doing that happy little sideways dance that makes for endless Facebook posts and darling YouTube videos. In a nutshell, goats embody love. You can't look a goat in the face without smiling...(I double dog dare you.)
     As lively and fun as the little buggers are, your heart breaks when one goes limp, which is how I found April last night.
Last check of the night and all was not well. Things you don't want to see include lifeless eyes, a goat flat on its side (or back, even worse) or a worried mama goat, trying to nurture her baby back to health. The other goats instinctively gave distance. Like all nature, they know when something is wrong.
     Born to the smallest goat in my herd, April's mama was a surviving twin, born TO a twin on the coldest night of the year before...(That polar arctic thing was dangerous all the way around, and doubly hard on a mama giving birth as it's hard to keep one baby alive, much less two, when birth fluids freeze instantly, which is what happened to April's twin brother before I could get to him; talk about a sad night.)
     Anna Karinina, April's mama, was one of several given Russian names, as they arrived opening week of the Russian Olympics.  Anna (AK as we call her) was tiny. So tiny I decided to have her fixed, as Heff, twice her size and twice as determined, was no match for her. Sadly, I got her to the vet too late; she was 3 months pregnant (gestation on goats is 5). A baby taking on Heff's gene for size could've been deadly. Fortunately, AK inherited her mother's gene for size and color and came out fine. (We've have lived with the tragedy before when the first goats I purchased were bred by a brush (goat) billy...For the record, NEVER pair a pygmy with a standard size goat; 2 mamas of my initial herd had tragic births with babies' legs longer their mothers, making for emergency surgeries costing life and limb.
       Pygmies are tiny on a good day; April was teacup size at birth, and even today is more akin to a Nigerian Dwarf than a Pygmy. Fully grown, today she is now smaller than Cupid's recent twins (Jack and Jill, born 6 weeks ago. Given her mother's small stature, April inherited small genes (and fortunately, not Heff's), but her immune system was challenged from the get-go.
     For those unfamiliar, wattles (those little nodes that dangle from the neck of some (but not all) goats) are sometimes called neck-earrings. Best I can tell, they serve no useful purpose...They're just cute...again, not all goats have them, but April does.
   

     Around 2 months of age, beneath her left waddle a cyst had formed, the size of a small marble. Fortunately it did not have the texture of a marble (i.e. it was not hard, but rather fluid-filled, which was easily enough drained, only it came back....It was drained again, but it is now forming for a third time, leading us to believe it may not be benign.) Time will tell. Right now, the focus is managing the dehydration factor. (I'll spare you the vivid details here, or you may check my earlier blogs on the poop factor, i.e. quickest way to spot a problem in farm animals, and for goats, even more so, given they have 4 stomachs...Suffice it to say, if their poop is off, their system's off. It's the number one tell-tale sign of a problem, leading me to believe that clearly God has a great sense of humor.)
     I'll spare you the details save to say, April made it through the night. (Good sign.) This morning, she ate. (Another good sign.) The others butted her, leaving her flat on her back (Bad sign...Suggests they know she's weak and are counting her gone, but I was there...and will be watching over her like a hawk until the doctor arrives.)
     While yes, this goes with the territory, it's not the part of the territory I like. It's a part of life-- just not the fun part, but it is the cost of caring so deeply.  To avoid the pain of hurting over an innocent critter would mean avoiding animals all together and that's a price I do not wish to pay.
     That said, I DO so marvel at the kind wishes, the thoughtful comments...the prayers I KNOW were prayed. (I felt them.) The tender hearted replies from so many caring people --fellow animal lovers, friends...even total strangers -- warmed my heart and brought great comfort at a time I was otherwise feeling lost and helpless.
     There is something about watching innocence suffer that both bonds us and reminds us of how very fragile life is, (and how very helpless we are at times to do anything BUT pray).  Yet for all the pain felt while watching it, there is a sweet peace that comes with knowing others care. And for this, I am truly...TRULY grateful.
     I'll keep you posted.
     My heartfelt thanks for your precious tender hearts.
     For now, it's an April kinda day.