Livestock means Deadstock

Now isn’t that a depressing title for a post? But sadly it’s true. Keeping livestock occasionally means that you have deaths to deal with, and I don’t just mean the deliberate ones that end up on your dinner table.

So far this season we’ve had four little goat kids born. But sadly only two have survived.

The first was born to Mrs Magoo, one of our newly arrived goats. Sadly we think that the stress of the move so late in pregnancy upset her balance somewhat, and she really had no interest in her little one. On the morning of day three I gave up hope that she would bond with it and took it from her to bottle feed and monitor inside, but despite my best efforts it didn’t recover from the initial neglect and died at a week old. I never thought I’d have a goat sleeping in the corner of my bedroom, but in a houseful of dogs it was the only place where I could keep an eye on her!

I’m pleased to report that after that we then had two successful births, and two lovely little girls who are doing well. Mistletoe (Misty) was born just before Christmas to Beyonce, and Chocolate was born just after to Brownie. As Beyonce is our largest goat and Brownie our smallest, the same size differential is apparent in the kids. I’ve spent hours on my knees in the goat shed trying to photograph them together, but all I’ve achieved is smelly trousers!

Another disappointment on New Year’s Even when Mini-Horny gave birth to a stillborn and deformed little one. So sad, and so hard to ascribe meaning to.

Onwards and upwards, and grateful that we’ve two healthy and strong little ones in this terrible wet and cold weather.


It’s hard to take photos when someone’s nibbling your equipment!
















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