It was one year ago today that we brought home two baby goats in the back of our minivan - our second set of twins, I joked, unaware how these tiny Nigerian dwarfs would turn our lives upside down. It was the beginning of a year suddenly governed by hay bales and hoof trimming, of fencing and housing and scooping, scooping and more scooping...of bitterly-cold early mornings and windy late nights in the goat pen, the advent of terms like "goat shoes" and "pee-trays" and "licky bricks" (their rectangular mineral blocks). It was the start of our life with goats and the end of things like free time, sleeping in, and any hope of a balanced monthly budget.
They were supposed to be Emily's goats. She chose them, she bought them, she named them. And yet...in a lesson parents everywhere learn, then forget, then learn again - when your child gets a pet (or two), and your child goes to school, it is always the mother who mostly ends up feeding them, cleaning up after them, buying their food, treating their medical ills...and falling in love with them.
Last night my husband was trolling on craigslist and for some inexplicable reason he clicked on an ad for a tiny Nigerian Dwarf buckling - right in our town - and most amazing of all, this sweet creature looked just like a baby Elliot. Same colors, same markings, they could have been twins. Uncanny. Right away everyone wanted to jump in the car - "Let's just go see him! We don't have to actually buy him...but look how cute he is...he looks so lonely..."
NO! NO! NO! NO!!!!!
We will pull up the photo again tonight, just to adore him. I believe I am still sane enough to resist anything further. Looking at the ad is bittersweet, though, as Ellie's limp, which our vet last month hoped was simply a sprain that would improve on its own, has worsened and we are forced to consider the possibility of more ominous, progressive diagnoses. I have been hoping that warm weather will help, and if we ever see any warm weather I'll have a clearer idea - but some mornings he can barely stumble out of the shed. Fortunately the stiffness abates after he is up walking for a few minutes, and he still dances and trots in the field, so perhaps this is just something we will live with and treat with aspirin. He loved our afternoon walk today, strolling in the tall grass and munching up all sorts of weeds, but afterwards he just lay down on a mat, exhausted. I sat and stroked his neck, and whispered a promise - "Wherever this road takes us, Ellie, we're in it together. I'll be right by your side the whole time." Then Emerson ambled over to join in the snuggle, and I tiptoed away...
It's a crazy life, raising goats. Even crazier, loving them. Twelve months feels like a lifetime. And so begins another year... .
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