I have a little obsession lately here on the farm.  It’s a relatively new one and don’t worry, it won’t be replacing my horse obsession.  Or my wine obsession.  This obsession is universal but probably not accessible to all.

What keeps me up at night and bloats my camera memory?

Baby goats.

Last month our two does Lucy and Ethel kidded twins, each.  Side-note: I got to be there for both births!!!  I got video!  It’s awesome!

We ended up with 3 doelings (baby girl goats) and 1 buckling (baby boy goat).  Until about 2 seconds after the kids were born I was sure we’d keep one or two females and sell the rest.  I was struck with butter face though.  (There’s an old, terrible joke about a woman called “butter face” — she has a great figure, “but her face”… I’m taking it back and repurposing it for more positive use.)

Anyhoo, I figured I’d sell some kids (fun to say in public), but her face — it was too cute.  Those big, beautiful eyes, the perfectly curved ears, the little bunny nose.  And his face too.  I mean, we could castrate him and turn him into a petting zoo goat.  Not that we have a petting zoo.  These are the things that go through one’s mind when a baby goat arrives on the farm.  Multiply by 4 and we’re talking major life changes.

The babies are:

Zoey (the Doey) in back, Ze – the only boy – in front. Exhausted after an afternoon of “being born”.

The first two born were Zoey and Ze (pronounced Zay).  They are Lucy’s kids.  You can tell them in pictures because they have brown on them.  Ze has a freckled muzzle and ears, which are extremely kissable.

Luna (white doeling with the Mona Lisa smile) and Astrid.

The next evening, Ethel kidded these two.  Luna was first.  Then, the mama Ethel stood up, turned around and kidded Astrid right into my lap!

In another life, long ago, I worked lambing season on a sheep station in New Zealand. The majority of my work involved driving around the thousands of acres of paddocks and assisting ewes in trouble.  Like I said – that was long ago.  So, I’m no expert in the critter-birthing process, but have spent a decent amount of time with my arm in ewes’ lady-business.  Witnessing a lambing never, ever got old.  As Ethel heaved Astrid onto the straw in front of me, I experienced the same thrill and wonder.

 
I’m still the Uncorked Cowgirl, but maybe now an Uncorked Goatgirl too?