One of Life’s Wrinkles

Almost three years ago I had three does, birth seven kids, within 48 hours.  Two red kids, from a set of triplets, were not accepted by their mom (strike one).  They were almost identical in appearance.   I was told I had three days to start bottle feeding them, or they would die. I became mom for thirty days.  I named one “Grunt”, because she had a loud grunt as she sucked-down the milk, and the other I named “Wrinkle”, because of the prominent wrinkle in her right ear.  As they grew they developed a slightly different horn pattern, which made them easier to tell apart.  They were pleasant around people, and sometimes didn’t quite fit-in with the other kids.

After a little more than a year, they both got pregnant and had kids.  Wrinkle developed mastitis in one utter, so both of her kids fed from the same utter.  She did great, but the goat experts told me I should send her to market, because she may develop problems in both utters (strike two).  I couldn’t see removing her, so I left her with her sister.  The next time a buck visited, Grunt became pregnant, but Wrinkle did not take.  I thought it was just as well.  Grunt gave birth to one beautiful buck, which put a strain between her and her sister.

Two evenings ago, after I did the evening feed, the usual darting from one feed bowl to another feed bowl, was interrupted by Wrinkle getting her hoof caught in the bottom of a welded gate.  She went postal, as she attempted to tear her leg out of the bind.  I had to get a crow-bar, to pry the mesh away from the pipe to free her leg.  She was hurt, and the next day, she walked on three legs (strike three).  I have had to dispose of dead goats before, and I would rather send a goat to market, than watch it die.

I called my favorite butcher, who usually takes appointments three months in advance, but he said, bring her over today.  This morning, she hobbled onto the trailer and went for a ride.  I walked her off, at the stalls behind the butcher shop.  She was calm and trusting, as we waited for the butcher’s yard helpers.  Two men arrived, and were surprised how she managed with three good legs.  One of them, currently has a bottle-fed kid at home, so he understands.  They shoved her into a stall  with about a hundred sheep.  

I said good by to one of life’s wrinkles.