Chapter Six An Overprotective Mother

 

 I have these chapters in various orders on the computer so who knows if this is really Chapter Six in the final version, but it seems appropriate for this time of year. I just had 3 does kid and one must be a reincarnation of the doe in this story...

 

 

AN OVERPROTECTIVE MOTHER

    

     April, 2005: Although most of my goats prefer to have me holding their hooves (figuratively speaking) when they kid, D-Anne is the exception. She is a very large, very friendly doe who turns into a witch when she becomes a mother.

     This year, she did not appear very close to kidding on her due date, so I gaily went off to do whatever I was doing that day without moving her into the kidding pen. I guessed it would be a week before she popped. My first doe of the year had been a week late so I assumed all the others would be, too. Stupid assumption.

     That afternoon, while I was working in the orchard, two friends came by unexpectedly to drop some stuff off for me. They walked by the goat barn to reach the orchard. "I see you have new kids," Carol said.

     "I hope you don't mean brand new kids," I said. "The youngest are two weeks old."

     "Well, the doe has something hanging out of her back end. I assumed it was afterbirth and the kids were just born."

     I tore off for the barn and there was D-Anne with two mostly dry buck kids and one dead doe kid who never made it out of the sac. D-Anne was busy trying to kill every other goat in the vicinity. I picked up the live kids and led D-Anne by the collar into the kidding pen. As I dipped the navels in iodine, D-Anne attacked.

     I managed to dodge her charge and hollered at her. Then I grabbed the board I use to block the opening into the outside area when the babies are first born. D-Anne clobbered the board. Since I did not have the kidding pen ready, I retrieved the manure shovel and cleaned out the slightly soiled straw. D-Anne butted the shovel. I was glad to have her concentrating her protective efforts on an inanimate object instead of me.

     For the first several days, I had to tie D-Anne up before I could do anything with her children. It's the rare doe that makes pulling kids and bottle-feeding seem the easiest thing to do but D-Anne is such a doe, at least at the beginning. After a few days she mellows out -- with me. But woe be the water bucket that dares to enter her pen.

     When I turned D-Anne and the babies out with the herd, she proceeded to challenge everything that came within a country mile of her precious children. Her precious children, however, did not stay in one place waiting to be protected, which drove her nuts. Fortunately, D-Anne loves to eat and seems to forget her duty to kill every goat that looks at her kids when her own head is buried in hay. Nor does she hesitate to desert them entirely and charge into the milk room twice daily for her grain. Or more often if she can get away with it.

     A few days ago, D-Anne's babies disappeared and she was frantic. I wasn't because I knew they were most likely under the barn. A board is off in one spot and very small kids can crawl in for a short distance. They ignored their mother's frantic screams. (This was the old barn, remember. The new one has no such hidey holes. Yet.)

     I peeked under and sure enough, there the two kids were, cuddled up together sound asleep. Feeling a little ornery, I didn't pull them out and give them back to their mom. Let her scream, I thought. Maybe she won't be so anxious to knock all the other goats out of the way to get into the milk room.

     Hah!

     As soon as I opened the milk room door, there was D-Anne. She called her babies between mouthfuls of food, but never stopped eating. When I let her out, she went back to dashing around hysterically looking for them. I retrieved them for her, mostly because her screaming was driving me nuts. Thankfully, D-Anne did not decide I was the evil culprit who had stolen them in the first place.

     A few other goats will try to keep me from messing with their udders when they first freshen, but most seem to consider me one of their kids and lick the slimy newborns, then me, then the slimy newborns, etc. I think they expect me to get down on all fours and nurse from their teats and are mildly surprised when I choose to use hands and a bucket.

     Only D-Anne considers me a predator at kidding, the day after she has considered me a friend and head-scratcher. But I can't take it personally. After all, D-Anne also considers boards and shovels and water buckets predators.

     D-Anne's children from past years have grown up to become normal goats at kidding, not emotionally scarred by their mother's early over-protection. Thank goodness. One goat trying to kill me at kidding time is enough.