For two years running, my doe Foxy had quadruplets. As my smallest goat, each year, I looked on in wonder as she unleashed her veritable clown car of bouncing babies into the chilly Colorado mornings. Foxy's competing with Octomom (remember her?) in terms of proliferating her genetics onto the world.
Last year she had three boys and a girl, this year, she had the inverse. Of the four she had this year, the littlest runt, a girl, struggled. I usually keep kids nursing on their moms for about a month and then do a hybrid of bottle feeding and nursing, but with four kids - it was too much this year for Foxy to keep up early on.
The runt, Sweet Pea, came inside and became a "bottle baby" and quickly made her way right up to the edge of the fine line between "livestock" and "pet." She knows it, too. She's basically a puppy goat.
Sweet Pea is not "correct" - she's stayed small and, after eating about a million pumpkins, is about as wide as she is tall. In fact, her body almost resembles her favorite food. Now that it's finally cooling down across Colorado, she also is running quite fuzzy to combat the chill - so she's a tiny, round, fluffy, pumpkin-looking goat on skinny legs. She's like a walking snowball.
People who are just starting with goats often ask if it's better to keep new kids with their moms or to bottle feed. Like almost any other false choice, there are entire chat rooms and threads with thousands of comments about why the commenter is *right* and the opposite opinion is *so wrong.* Also, like many seemingly binary decisions, my answer is a mix of "it depends" and a hybrid of the two.
I'll mostly let babies stay with their Moms for about a month unless there's concern they aren't getting enough food. Then I'll start pulling the kids out of the pen, separating them in the evenings, and giving them bottles. That way, I can milk moms in the mornings, and the kids become more bonded to humans.
After raising goats in various ways, there is no question that bottle babies are more personable, but allowing the kids to also be with their moms seems to make them better herd mates. Only a goat can teach a goat to goat.
Sweet Pea didn't last two full days with her mom before I noticed she was getting shoved out of the way by her littermates. She was scary skinny and getting dehydrated. She started shivering. I put her in a box, brought her inside, and became her mom.
So, now I have a little incorrect fat fuzzy pet snowball goat out in the pasture. And I love her.
I didn't breed the smallest babies born this year, and as she is the smallest, she'll need more time to mature enough to make it even a possibility. But just based on how much love she has to give, she'd be an incredible Mom.
Goats here are all supposed to serve a purpose. For me, that purpose is supposed to be milk and cheese. Sweet Pea, based on her size and runt status, may never do well on the milk stand. But I won't know for at least another year, so for now, I'll keep my snuggle buddy and see what happens.
It's hard not to anthropomorphize those animals with whom you spend your days. Years of Disney movies and having my own little goat army sometimes make me forget that they are just goats, even with their complex social structure and obvious emotions.
If Sweet Pea was a person, she would be the kind of girl you want as a best friend. She knows exactly who she is, she's ok with it, and she wants you to be ok with it too. She's a lot, and she has a big personality distilled into that little snowball pumpkin body. Some friends seem to give you energy and spark, and others will cost you those things. Sweet Pea is an energizer, not a sucker. Sometimes she's a little ornery. But she's also profoundly joyful.
I took Sweet Pea to our sons' school last spring. As a bottle baby, she was the perfect choice. She jumped and she pranced at every new person. Sweet Pea has the ability to make you feel like there's a warm spotlight shining on you when you're the center of her attention.
I know Sweet Pea is not "correct," and I think she knows it too. I don't think she really cares, and I envy that about her.
To ensure we had enough goats in the goat show to "sanction" with the goat governing registries (oh, it's a whole THING - just trust me on this), I entered her in the show this summer. Based on her body conformation, I knew she wouldn't do well. She didn't. In fact, she got last place.
It's silly to think she knew she lost, but I think she did. It didn't stop her from prancing her little heart out. She jumped and jiggled her fuzzy tummy. She met people who walked up and just HAD to pet her. If you meet her, you just have to pet her. For her, just being there was worth it.
Maybe it’s because she almost didn’t make it as a baby. There’s something in the secret sauce of staring mortality in the face and still running forward that creates its own gravity. She has it.
I joked with some of my goat friends that it was cruel to put her in the show as a literal sacrificial lamb knowing she would lose. In retrospect, though, I'm glad I did. She got to see people (her second favorite thing, after treats), and win or lose; she showed up with all she had.
Anyway, as this year fades away and the march toward new goals sits on the horizon, I am setting the goal to be more like Sweet Pea.
Sweet Pea knows she's a lot, but still accepts herself. She doesn't let her imperfections stop her from radiating joy and love out of every inch of her little snowball body.
Every day Sweet Pea runs across the pasture as soon as she sees me to make sure I get to feel the warm glow of her spotlight. She's just happy to be here, and so am I.
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Love you, mean it. -K
The perfect story for Christmas!!! I think you need to write a children’s book about Sweet Pea!!
This was the sweetest story. I think I need a Sweet Pea hug now.