IT'S HAPPENING

Future Milk Maids of 'Merica

The evidence started mounting as soon as I arrived at the farm for chores this afternoon. A bottle of iodine spray, a sweater sleeve cut and left out on the counter in the barn, a towel set atop the round bale ... but when I went into the solar barn and peeked over to the side where we'd set out the straw houses, there were no bounding baby goats to be seen. The hell? Why must the universe toy with me so?


Inside the main barn I began running through my usual routine, and ran into Barry in the corridor. "No goats?" I asked, trying to minimize the disappointment in my voice. "Yeah," he said in a characteristically ambiguous way. "Yeah as in yeah goats?" I attempted to clarify. "Yeah, Sabine, Quincy and Ed all had em, two are out in the solar barn and one's in Pen 4. Go look ..." 

That's MAYBE what he might have said anyway, because by the time he got to the second "yeah" I was bolting out to the solar barn to peep the adorableness. I couldn't get the door unlatched fast enough. I started calling out to the tiny ones, certain that they'd bound out of their little straw hutch to pledge their undying friendship towards me, their Goat Aunt. But nothing doing. I went over and lifted the quilt up and there, shivering under a quite toasty little heat lamp, were two tiny bunny-sized goats curled up against one another. 

I. Pretty. Much. Died.

After taking copious pics and videos and making some high pitched shrieking noises I tried my best to go about my normal chores, but by the time I got to Pen Four, otherwise known as Placeys' Pen (my ultimate best goat boo), I discovered Edna's tiny baby huddled in a corner behind the whey bucket and sporting a very fashion-forward Icelandic fisherman's sweater and being EVERso adorable. But not all that bouncy-aroundy, which is what I was expecting. I suppose all the babies' energy are pretty much trained on keeping warm and adjusting to the Life On The Outside. At a certain point I coaxed Edna, Jr. into getting up on her surprisingly long and gangly legs -- so weird looking and Baba Yaga-ish to have this little round pouf atop these spindly coltish stick legs -- and she started making tiny mewling noises like a kitten and I DOUBLE TRIPLE died.

The new moms were mostly unperturbed, and if not for their newly svelte figures and blood-smeared undercarriages, it was another day at the office for everyone, except for when Quincy started crying for her bebe, which was only minorly heartbreaking. It's times like that when you really feel the dark side of your human intervention. 

All in all I was pleased and delighted to meet my newest goat friends, though a bit less inclined to bond to them and get all foofy over them, as they still seem to be formulating their personalities and trying to not die. Which, you know, is fair. 

My pal Shirley was having what seemed to be some labor pains so she'll likely be next in line. Poor Laini sleeps on the couch this time of year and gets up every couple of hours throughout the night to check on the Baby Happenings. She's also going to be hand-milking the girls until enough of them have freshened (or popped out their babies) to make machine-milking them worthwhile. Translation? Even more work for Ms. Fondiller. Hardest working woman in show biz, fa sho.

I've decided that to help fortify her and Barry I would make them some hippie drink called Golden Milk, which is my new obsession and which they will probably both hate because it's super weird. I will report back on reactions and more kid society debuts IMMINENTLY. 

And to all a good night.