We’re waiting again. It’s that time of year when you kind of just have to do that. The does are becoming more standoffish to each other, but more needy to me. It’s her fourth kidding for my favorite, Fiona. (Okay, I admit it. I have a favorite). Every other time she got close to her kidding time, she would start following me around the yard leaning on my leg just like Maggie the golden retriever does. She’s getting that way now but I know she isn’t due for another week or so.
Pearl, on the other hand, has let me know I’d better stay close. That’s her in the picture. The body language says it all. I wonder if I looked like that when I had my kids? Maybe not, but I remember feeling like it.
If you were born to it, maybe kidding time doesn’t cause as much anxiety as it causes me. The first time I witnessed a baby goat heaving its way into the world was when one of mine gave me twins. Talk about excited! That’s not something I ever saw in the Chicago burbs where I lived before making a break for the northwoods.
I worry:
Will I be feeding them adequately? Nobody has died and the only scours I’ve seen was when somebody knocked over a bag of barley and I couldn’t get it cleaned up fast enough.
Will I hurt them when I’m milking them? Doesn’t look like it and I still have cheese in the freezer left over from last summer.
Am I doing something wrong? If I am, it doesn’t look like it’s hurt them.
Five pregnant does, and all with tails up, nice coats and nosy behavior.
So if I’m not doing what I should, my little herd seems to think it’s okay so far. I read everything I can about my critters, but as a city transplant I’m sure I have a lot to learn.
