He was covered in poo and hay and his mama was going a bit crazy. Perhaps she knew there was nothing she could do for him or perhaps we are giving her too much credit. Either way, he was found and then ‘operation save the baby goat’ was formed. One of triplets, he didn’t have a chance. Weighing 1 pound after a few syringes full of colostrum were administered, he couldn’t stand up and was quite bluntly: a runt. His eyes were cloudy, he didn’t make much noise, if any and there wasn’t a lot of hope, but just enough for us to give him a chance.
We don’t always give them a chance. They aren’t always discovered on time or sometimes there just isn’t time or resources to help. This little guy has been good for all of us. Squeezing in feedings and towel changes as he soils the bed in his (our only) laundry basket and just loving him has been quite the ordeal over here.
Sure, we’ve had baby goats in our house before and a rejected calf and weak chickens and ducklings, and who knows what else, but it’s been a few months and I guess every few months or years it’s good to save a little life that would otherwise die. Or at least try to save a little life. It sort of lifts the morale around these parts, because loss and death are inevitable when dealing with life. At least here and now. So, when a little runt of a goat appears and is desperate to live, we are so thankful to be part of it.