The second, and final, installment

The last goat kidded this week. I know that sounds like a really big goat farm, but we only have two breeding age goats. The second, and last goat, LuLu, went into labor like clock work. I read somewhere that goats tend to kid at the same time of day each year. Remembering that she had birthed in the evening last year, I wasn't surprised to see the tell-tale signs start at about 6 pm. We were all excited to see what she would have. LuLu is what they call a "paint" Nubian. Like the horse, she has a lot of white. And last year she had triplets. This year, she had gotten really big, but then seemed to shrink a bit towards the end, but was still obviously pregnant.

We gave her some privacy as labored progressed, but hustled to the barn when we heard the sounds of her really pushing, sounds just like one might hear in the halls of the hospital maternity ward. Out popped one small little girl, and we were in business.

Because the first was small, I wasn't surprised to see Lu lay back down for another go 'round. But something seemed different now. Sadly, she popped out two small and very much dead twins. My girls, brave and inquisitive ones that they are, and not at all queasy, analyzed the still, lifeless forms. Pictures were taken. Seems as though the survivor, little Molly, was all that was meant to be. And thankfully, she survived. And the fact that Lu seemed to get smaller at the end, now made sense.

So today, little Molly and LuLu got some time out in the fresh green lawn and some special attention. She may be small, but she is a little firecracker. And for us, although the usually joyous experience of kidding season has ended with a tinge of sadness, the promise of a new batch of babies and the anticipation of watching them grow, training them, and showing them at the fair, has outweighed any sadness.