A goat tragedy

Our daughter Taylor and Grandma Goat

For nearly four months 'Grandma Goat' had been ruling the roost around here. Going along at her own geriatric pace, eating up as much food and attention as she could. As I explained in an earlier story, she came to live with us to avoid being sent to slaughter. She was well past her prime, mostly deaf, blind in one eye and very old. She came along with several other goats this past October to live with us. All of the females were pregnant when we purchased them, including Grandma Goat.

We had fenced off a two acre 'maternity ward' pasture separate from the larger thirty acre goat pasture. It's not a good idea for the new mommy's to be in the same pasture with the billy goat so we had already moved Freckles into the maternity ward where she had twin boys. The breeder we bought our goats from thought Grandma Goat would deliver, called "kidding" in goats, about three weeks after Freckles did. So, Grandma Goat was still in the main goat pasture with Billy, Strawberry and Jose the donkey.

Like everything else, Grandma Goat had her baby on her own terms and on her own time. About a month ago we spent a very long Saturday working on fences. It was already getting dark when I made it home. Allen and Tuff, my step son, were still at the hog pasture working. As I came up the driveway doing my usual head count of the animals one was missing, Grandma Goat. Because she was so old, I was immediately concerned and feared the worse.



Grandma Goat and Frosty



A short four wheeler search later, I found her. She was out in the main pasture, just at the edge of the woods. The way our fields gently roll, I couldn't see her from the driveway. She was standing guard over a new born baby boy. It was an unusually cold January evening and the temperature was already well below freezing. I scooped the little one up and tucked him in my coat. He was snow white and shivering, I named him "Frosty".

I turned to get back on the four wheeler, thinking I would simply ride slowly back to the gate and walk Grandma Goat and her new baby out of the big pasture and into the maternity ward. As usual, nothing is ever easy around here. By now it was dark and I had a captive audience, Billy, Strawberry and Jose had found us. Billy was overly interested in what was going on. I had to stand guard between him and Grandma Goat. Jose was jealous of the baby goat in my coat and had my jeans firmly in his rather large teeth tugging at me, begging for a treat. All the while Strawberry, our overly excitable goat, is running non stop circles around us all. It felt like a scene out of Dr. Doolittle.



Grandma Goat and Frosty



It was then I realized I was gonna need some help. So I called in the cavalry. Allen and Tuff brought the old farm truck out and we loaded Grandma goat up and took her to the maternity pasture without incident. Billy posted himself beside the four foot woven wire fence separating the two pastures to keep an eye on his ladies. Jose got his treat and Strawberry finally calmed down.

That brings me to this past Monday afternoon. I found Grandma Goat lying in the barn unresponsive. Her eyes were rapidly twitching back and forth non stop and she would occasionally cry out it in distress.  It appeared to me she had suffered a stroke. I quickly consulted with our vet and with the very knowledgeable goat breeder she came from. Both advised what I already knew.



Frosty

 What truly broke my heart was the frightened cries from her little orphan, Frosty as we loaded his mommy into the back of the truck one last time. Even at three weeks old, this little guy knew something was terribly wrong. After many years as a paramedic, baring witness to an array of human suffering, I learned long ago that there are worse things than death.  Most days we focus on ensuring a good, happy life for our animals. On this particularly grey, rainy Monday we had to offer one a peaceful death. We buried sweet old Grandma Goat among a grove pine trees at the back of our farm.