These pictures were taken just hours after their grand entrance into the world, still wobbly on their legs and trying to figure out what all the fuss is about. They might not be the most cooperative models (posing isn’t exactly a newborn goat’s strong suit), but you’ll get the idea—pure sweetness, wrapped in soft fur and topped with floppy ears. More photos to come, as soon as I can catch them standing still for more than half a second!
Now, before anyone wonders why on earth I’ve got goats giving birth in my milk room, let me explain. After years—years—of freezing my tail off in the barn at all hours, waiting on goat babies to make their debut, I finally had an epiphany. One cold March day, I grabbed a tarp, spread it across the milk room floor, tossed down some old towels, and said, “That’s it. No more frostbite at 2 a.m.” The milk room’s heated, well-lit, and far more comfortable than crouching in a drafty barn with snow blowing sideways through the cracks. The goats don’t seem to mind the upgrade either.
Mama goat is doing fantastic, even if she looks a little like I feel—tired, proud, and slightly overwhelmed. She’s taken to motherhood like a pro, and the babies are thriving—nursing, bouncing, and curling up in cozy piles under the heat lamp.
As for me? I’ve been crawling around on that milk room floor enough to qualify for combat pay. Between drying babies, getting everyone nursing, and running on adrenaline, I’m pretty sure I’ve hit “farmhand zombie” status. And here’s the kicker—there are still five more does left to kid.
So stay tuned for more updates and more adorable chaos. By the end of this season, I’ll either have a barn full of bouncing baby goats—or the perfect title for my next blog post: Sleep Is for People Without Livestock.
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