Friday, March 17, 2017

Seven Ways From Sunday

So Wembley started in to laboring and the farmer got the stool for sitting on, the Kindle for reading, the towels, the gatorade, the special treats, the dental floss for the baby goat cords, the iodine for the dipping, the gloves I don't know why because they never get used, the lube because if you don't have it you will always need it, the feed sack for catching babies when they fall out, et cetera and so on.

And Wembley did a lot of preambling, just strolling irritably around and getting up and lying down and examining and then refusing to eat all proferred refreshments, and so on, second verse same as the first. And then she started in to do something that the farmer really does not like: lying down but not pushing, giving one sharp yip of pain, just like she had stepped on a nail, and jumping back up.

This usually means someone is not getting lined up right to come out. "I hope this isn't going to be one of those seven-ways-from-Sunday breech festivals," the farmer said to Dolly, who was lying outside the stall door. Dolly gave a noncommittal look, obviously she didn't want to say anything, but the way things were going, it probably would be a seven-ways-from-Sunday breech festival.

Nothing continued to happen and finally the farmer fished around and sure enough someone's hock was jammed up against the exit door and the farmer went quickly and washed with hot water but by the time the farmer came back two rear legs were out which makes the whole thing a piece of cake and so the farmer just pulled that one out and it was a little hard to start but then it sneezed mightily and all systems were go.

Ok then back to the yipping and sure enough another breech buckling,  but that one came out without too much trouble either and so all in all it could have been much worse. C Minus kidding score.

Two days later Froggy lost her ligaments and the farmer put Froggy in a kidding stall, where Froggy began devouring all the refreshments in sight. "Listen," said the farmer, "I am going to get the supplies and I don't want any more trouble." Froggy was not listening because she was neck deep in the feeder.

The farmer went to get the Kindle, the stool, the dental floss, the iodine, the special treats,  the gloves, the lube, the feed sacks. When the farmer came back Froggy was still neck deep in the feeder only now she had two kids with her, one crybaby buckling and one dreamy-eyed doeling, sway-standing the way the new babies like to do.

"If you want to do it like that," said the farmer, "that is fine with me."