Well, you have one day, and then you have the next day. And that's how it goes.
On Sunday, one thing is for sure: the barometer dropped. Rain, wind that blew the roof off one of the little sheds, rain, wind, snow, sleet, hail, rain, rain, and rain. Nothing brings on a baby blizzard like the barometer heading south.
After Brandy, Wronny, Bertie and Winnie all decided to have their kids early. Not premature, but just a couple of days ahead of schedule, and one right after the other. Wronny just like last year was a champ and popped out twin does. Winnie, who has never had a doe kid, popped out twin does as well.
They had no trouble doing it, although Winnie as usual gave a few Oscar-worthy screams. But that was for the benefit of the peanut gallery who possibly had not seen last year's performance: she actually stopped in mid-scream to eat a vanilla wafer when one was offered.
When it was Bertie's turn, Bertie got an unmistakable look on her face that was part Nubian (she is Boo's daughter) and part first freshener. It was a stargazing look of amazement and dismay that said: I do not know what is happening, but I think there might be a band of angels coming for me, and my goodness what a beautiful spider web up there in the corner of the stall, who makes those spider webs anyway?
Bertie was in a daze. She had some calcium, and finally she laid down, and she started to push. And she pushed. And she pushed. And she pushed.
And the farmer put on some gloves, which only means one thing. But no, there was no problem: the baby was coming nose and toes, nothing upside down or ass backward about it, Bertie just needed to keep pushing. And so she pushed, and she pushed, and she pushed, and two front feet finally emerged, followed by a nose and mouth with a little pink tongue already sticking out.
And Bertie kept pushing. And finally she looked at the farmer like, why are you just sitting there?
And so the farmer, who doesn't like to pull too much on the first fresheners because they need a chance to dilate, finally took pity and started pulling while Bertie kept pushing.
And my sweet land of Goshen! Finally a ginormous single buck kid popped out. I have had some big kids but I mean to tell you I would not like to have had to push that one out.
Anyway, the farmer was very proud of Bertie, who didn't give up like some does would have. She kept right on, even when she was dead tired.
And Bertie's buck kid turned out to have the sweetest most mellow disposition of about anyone ever born here. We are calling him Baby Bert until we think of a better name. Baby Bert almost never cries, and loves to be cuddled, and in addition he is about the size of a Clydesdale, so the farmer is going to be sure and find a very good home for him: someone who needs a nice pack goat or a cart goat.
If you are looking for a cart goat, or maybe a goat that could pull a sweet chariot, this is the boy for the job. Already he has a lot of experience with pushing and pulling. And he never loses his cool.