the goat in the chile patch lesson plans

The goat in the chile patch lesson plans full#

I’ve been obsessively watching her, and yesterday afternoon I was sure it was finally her time. Her pregnant profile reminds me of an aphid’s swollen abdomen. She’s a waif-like Nubian who carries her babies down low, so her belly stretches almost to the ground. She’s the last pregnant goat left, and she just looks ready to explode. I stayed up really late last night, waiting to see if Desti would deliver her kids in the frigid night. I’m a goat doula, a walking zombie, rather delirious and foggy eyed these days. I am relieved to feel her udder loosening up and see her milk quantity is increasing.Īh, the price I pay for tending pregnant goats. At the last milking of the night, I bring Honey up to the milk stand for the first time. The kids don’t understand the bottle right away, but our puppy Belle is happy to help clean off the sticky mess from their faces as they learn. Thank goodness for the frozen stash I had in reserve. Over the course of the day, Honey and I go through the routine of milking along the fence, so I can give her colostrum to her kids. Her udder feels a bit congested and solid, so I massage it with the warm soapy towel. I milk her into a pint jar, but not much milk is coming out. As I talk soothingly to her, she assumes the typical dairy goat crouch, back legs slightly spread apart. Udder stimulation aids with delivery of the placenta, as well as helping let the milk “down” out of the milk ducts. I hitch her to the cattle panel and wash her up, then begin to massage her udder. She’s confused with me smelling like her kids, I’m obviously not a baby goat.

The goat in the chile patch lesson plans full#

I bring two buckets with me, one with warm, soapy water and a soft towel for cleaning her back side and udder, and one full of hot electrolyte/ molasses water for her to drink. I go back out to the goat shed to milk out Honey’s colostrum, and clean her up from kidding. I take some adorable photos of the twins and post an ad on Craigslist. I grab a bag of colostrum from the freezer to defrost, which I’d saved last spring, just in case. Inside the house, after a good, brisk towel rub down and iodine dipping of their navels, the twin kids are toddling around in the kitchen almost instantly. Bottle-fed babies are much friendlier and instantly love everyone, so they will be easier for their new owners to handle and bond with. Honey calls out as I leave with her babies, but she’ll be ok. So, with a bit of a guilty twinge, I gather the two newborn kids into my coat and bring them into the house. I don’t need any more milkers, nor do I want to deal with the rambunctious bucklings for 6 months before harvesting them. I’ve decided that this year I’ll be selling the goat kids right away as bottle babies. Usually I’ll observe the goat momma in labor first, not kids born without any warning! I move my flashlight beam around on the hay littered ground, and find two tiny damp kids cuddled against the wall.

I can’t see anything, but I know goat babies have arrived. All the other mommas come looking for treats when, suddenly, I hear a baby cry from the back of the pitch-black shed. At the opening to their shed, Honey, my black Oberhasli doe, is eating hay voraciously, paying little attention to my arrival. With a bucket of warm water for the thirsty girls, I go out again into the dark morning to check on the 7 pregnant goat ladies. It is a magical and sleep-deprived moment to see this place and know I live here and feel so grateful. After I check on the goats, I walk back up the icy path back to our tiny house glowing with warmth, I see the woodstove smoke against the moonlit clouds smell the caramel toffee essence of this particular oak we’re burning in the woodstove. If I had no other reason to be outdoors in the dark hours of early spring, I’d be missing this glory. The dark blue reflecting on the remaining snow has always been one of my favorite sights in the world. The freshest air comes over the farm right before dawn a pure & clean, star-filled air. Getting outdoors in the dead of night to check on the goats, even if it is arctic out, is a surprising joy. But, the promise of spring is nigh, and the miracle of birth always takes my breath away.

My worry over troublesome kidding presentations fills my restless sleep with nightmares. This is a wonderful, exciting and nerve wracking time of year. My excitement for the arrival of the babies grows as the momma goats’ bellies swell in their late pregnancy.