Worried about Coco

I've been writing this post in my head for two weeks, while simultaneously trying to convince myself that I am just worrying over nothing. Now I have pulled out the calendar and realize I have nothing left but hope that somehow I am wrong.

On Oct. 14 and 17, my la mancha buck jumped two fences and got into the pasture with my Nigerian does. It was obvious a couple of does were in heat, so I gave them injections of lutalyse to end the pregnancies, in case they had been bred. I also lutalysed the doe kids, because being impregnated by a la mancha buck would mean certain death for them. I thought Coco was already bred, so I didn't worry about her. And I castrated the la mancha buck. I decided it was just too much of a risk to have a standard-sized, intact buck anywhere near my Nigerian does.

If Coco got pregnant by Tennessee Williams when he jumped the fence, she should have freshened by now, and her ligaments are still there. I finally sat down and calculated a due date based upon an October 14 breeding. She would be due March 8 to 13. An October 17 breeding would make her due March 11 to 16. She just keeps getting bigger and bigger and shows no signs of going into labor any time soon. To make matters worse, since we thought she was due mid-January, we've been giving her grain since early January, which is two months. Normally I only give grain to my does for the last two weeks of pregnancy. All that grain will make bigger kids. The only thing that might save her is the fact that multiples run in her family so strongly on both her dam's and sire's side, and she herself has had triplets already. If she has quads or quintuplets, they'll be smaller than if she only has two or three in there. Obviously, smaller is easier to birth, so now I find myself hoping she has quintuplets or even sextuplets! This picture was taken today, and I can't believe how big she is. Click here to see a picture of her at a show two years ago. She is not a short-legged doe!

I received my copy of Ruminations magazine in the mail today and read an article entitled, "A Life or Death Decision." It was about a goat that was carrying a very large single kid. The owner wound up in the vet's office faced with the decision of whether or not to spend $800 to have a dead kid delivered via c-section -- after already spending $400 on the x-rays and ultrasound for the diagnosis. They opted to have the goat euthanized. The point of the article was that goat breeders need to think about these things ahead of time and even talk to their vet and find out the cost of a c-section, in case they are ever faced with that decision. It's better to think about it ahead of time, rather than in the middle of an emergency situation when you are likely to be emotional.

So, I put down the magazine and picked up the phone to call the best goat vet I know. The office is an hour away. I asked the receptionist how much a c-section would cost for a goat. She said I'd have to talk to a vet about that, but they're all out of the office this week. "Do you need it soon?" she asked. I told her the situation, and she said she'd give them my message when they called in this evening. Now I'm sitting here waiting for the phone to ring, hoping that somehow I'm wrong, and trying to put a price on Coco's life.

Freaking out in the Twilight Zone

Life just keeps getting weirder. The faltering economy means different things to different people, and it's hard to comprehend what it means out here. After taking a couple of kittens off my neighbor's hands, I mentioned to the vet that people were dumping an awful lot of cats lately. She said that's because the county can't afford to keep them in the pound, so they won't take any from owners. So, owners are just dumping them out in the country. That was sad enough, but I heard something even sadder this weekend.

Apparently, not knowing what else to do with them, some people are castrating stray males themselves. I won't repeat the procedure here, because it was rather barbaric -- sounds like something from the Civil War era surgical books -- and I certainly don't want to give anyone else any ideas. The person who told me about it said that most of them survive.

Then today I received a letter from a couple of Shetland shepherds who can no longer care for their sheep and are looking to give them away to someone. They had photocopied their letter and just filled in my first name after "Dear" in the salutation of the letter, so the letter obviously went to a number of people with Shetlands.

A friend also called today and started telling me about people deserting horses in parks that allow riding. Since horses cost a small fortune to keep boarded, and no one is buying horses right now, some people take them to the parks to ride them, and then just leave them when no one is looking.

And to put icing on the cake today, I had a visit from a very suspicious man. He called last week and asked a lot of questions about taking care of goats, then he said he'd stop by sometime and asked me for directions. I told him to call whenever he was ready to head over, and I'd give him directions then. Well, today my phone rang, and he said he was outside looking at my sheep. I told him I'd be right outside, and he said that I didn't need to come out. He just didn't want me to worry if I looked out the window and saw someone with my animals. He was just going to head back down the road so he could look at my goats.

"No, just give me a minute, and I'll be right out!"

"Oh, no, I don't want to bother you. You don't need to come outside," he said in this sweet grandfatherly-sounding voice.

"Well, you won't know who you're looking at or what if I'm not out there to tell you."

"Oh, that's okay. I just want to see what they look like. I don't want to bother you."

And we went back and forth until Jonathan saw him pulling into the driveway, and I blurted out, "Don't get out of your car! I have a big dog, and he hates strangers, and I don't know where he is! Don't get out of your car until I get out there!" He stopped arguing at that point, and I went out to meet him. (I knew exactly where both my dogs were, by the way.)

He was short and a little overweight with a long white untrimmed beard and no teeth. I took him into the barn to see the babies, and he said that he just wanted to see what they looked like so he'd know what size crate he'd need to transport one. Then he starts sizing up the adults, even though I never said the adults were for sale. He pointed to Coco and asked, "Is that one pregnant?" I said yes. And he started talking about what a good home they'd have and how they'd be in "goat heaven." That was a phrase he kept repeating -- "goat heaven." I know it's a metaphor, but somehow it was making me really uncomfortable. After he left, I realized he didn't ask any questions that buyers normally ask -- not even prices! He never asked any of the goats' names or production history or anything. As he went to leave, he never said anything about getting back to me, calling me later, or buying a goat. But he did keep talking about what a good home they'd have and how happy the goats would be in "goat heaven."

Okay, so, I suppose this man could be completely devoid of any normal social skills, but it's hard for me to believe that anyone could be so clueless. I had to practically threaten the man with being mauled by my dog before he would let me come out into my yard to show him my animals!

I asked him how he found our place, and he said he just went to the gas station in town and asked, "Where's Old MacDonald's Farm?" and someone gave him directions. That seems really strange also, but I don't think my physical address is on the net anywhere.

Needless to say, the barn is locked tonight! I wish I had a way to lock up the sheep. I am freaked out though, knowing two goat breeders who've had goats stolen, and reading the Shetland shepherd's story about her neighbor's cow being shot with an arrow and butchered in the pasture. We should probably be looking at how we can put all the animals behind locked doors and gates. The world is getting increasingly weird and scary.

FAMACHA certified!

Today I attended a goat health seminar, and in the afternoon there was an optional FAMACHA class. I am so jaded about vets knowing nothing about goats (or having outdated information) that I wasn't really excited about going to anything other than the FAMACHA training, but I figured that if I was going to drive almost two hours to get there, I might as well arrive early. I'm so glad I decided to attend the whole workshop, because the vet who spoke about goat health has actually been raising goats for 15 years, so I learned some interesting and helpful information about milk composition and extra teats.

But the FAMACHA training really excited me, even though I've been trying to use it for the past couple of years in spite of my lack of formal training. I wondered how they would talk about it for two to three hours since it can be explained in one sentence: It's a system where you check a goat's (or sheep's) anemia status by looking at the inside of the eyelids and using dewormer only on goats (or sheep) that are anemic. Well, that was about the last 15 minutes of the workshop! What else did we learn?

Why was the FAMACHA system developed? Well, since the 1980s, there have been no new classes of dewormers discovered. Unfortunately, vets and livestock producers were lulled into a false sense of security by how well they worked initially. Parasites, and especially haeomonchus contortus (known as barberpole worm), adapted beautifully to the dewormers, and now some goat and sheep breeders lose as much as 20% of their animals yearly because of dewormer resistance and parasite overload. Wow, huh! And I thought I had a problem last summer!

Veterinary advice in the past was to administer dewormer to all goats or sheep at the same time. Unfortunately, this created a big problem. Based on a LOT of research, the newest advice is to deworm as seldom as possible. Only deworm animals that are anemic. But since we don't all want to be out in the pasture drawing blood from all our animals every couple weeks, this system was developed as a way to check on their hematocrit without drawing blood. We check the inside of the eyelids. By treating fewer animals, it will take longer for the parasites to develop resistance. For more on the FAMACHA system, check out the website for the Southern Consortium of Small Ruminant Parasite Control.

The FAMACHA vet and another speaker talked about rotating pastures as a means of preserving pasture, as well as reducing parasite load on the pasture. I've been practicing pasture rotation for five years, but I've been doing it incorrectly when it comes to the parasite management part. The vet at U of I told me to deworm and then move the goats immediately to a clean pasture. Apparently, this was the standard advice a few years ago. Now they realize that the goat or sheep should stay on the old pasture for three or four days after deworming and shed all the eggs in the old pasture, because the offspring of survivors are obviously resistant to the dewormer. So, if you move them immediately, you are taking resistant worms to the new pasture.

I can't possibly tell you everything I learned this afternoon, but hopefully I've made you excited enough that you'll visit the website for the Southern Consortium of Small Ruminant Parasite Control and learn more about this for your own flock or herd. If you ever have a FAMACHA training in your area, I'd highly recommend attending!

Sustaining ourselves

When Margaret screamed up the stairs this morning, "Coco still has her ligaments," she quickly added, "Stop wrinkling up your forehead!" because she knew my nonverbal response. She lectured me yesterday on the complete worthlessness of worrying about Coco's impending birth, so I'm trying to think of something else! I started reading blogs and came upon a new one, recommended by Vintage Flapper. Tread Softly has a great post on the Morality of Frugality. It was one of those moments when you're sure you hear the Twilight Zone music playing in the background, because just two days ago, I picked up a copy of Walden Two by B.F. Skinner in the library and read the 1976 foreword, which said:

Consider the following economic propositions. The first is from Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: by reducing the amount of goods we consume, we can reduce the amount of time we spend in unpleasant labor. The second appears to assert just the opposite: we must all consume as much as possible so that everyone can have a job. I submit that the first one is more reasonable, even though the second is defended by many people today. Indeed, it might be argued that if America were to convert to a network of small communities, our economy would be wrecked. But something is wrong when it is the system that must be saved rather than the way of life that the system is supposed to serve.

I read it over and over, hardly able to believe it was written 35 years ago, because he could have written it yesterday. Between Skinner and Tread Softly, I think it is pretty obvious what we need to be doing right now, and it ain't buying more lawn ornaments and $700 purses! The system is so broken, I really don't know how it's going to get fixed, but I know my family will be fed, clothed, and sheltered -- and happily entertained with all the activity that it takes to feed, clothe, and shelter us.

Waiting and wondering

Coco is still pregnant -- and huge. I was expecting her to kid a month ago, because she was already as big as the other goats who were due last month. She just keeps getting bigger, but her ligaments are still there. Her udder seems fairly full, certainly big enough to feed kids, but I know that her udder could get bigger. We're assuming that she won't give birth tonight, since she doesn't have any of those eminent signs of impending labor. Still, I'm worried. If she were to have three or more kids, she probably could not get all of them cleaned up before they got hypothermia.

Five years ago, Carmen was one of triplets, and we weren't there. She wound up with such severe hypothermia that she couldn't even suck for 24 hours, so we had to tube feed her. That was terrifying. I had absolutely no experience in doing that -- had never even seen someone do it! The local vet refused to help, other than to explain to me how to do it over the phone. I called my goat mentor for advice, and I checked online for advice. Then I finally did it. Obviously she survived. And I survived too, even though I was crying, "Please don't die" as I held her and fed her, hoping I had put the tube into her stomach and not her lungs.

I'm so glad that Anne did such a great job with her babies, even though no one was around to help her. I was out of town, and no one expected her to kid Friday afternoon. But with only two babies, it's not too hard for a goat mama to get them cleaned up. And I'm sure they're not Draco's -- I definitely think they're Tennessee William's babies. But since they're both boys, they'll just be wethered and sold as pets, so it doesn't even matter.

Well, it's time to get to bed. I have a busy day ahead tomorrow.

You think motherhood is tough?

If only I'd had goats before I had my human kids, I would have complained a lot less about how tough it is raising a baby! Human kids might like to crawl all over your lap, but they don't stand on top of you every time you sit down. Ouch! That's gotta hurt! But Charlotte and Sherri are such good mamas, they don't even seem to notice.

And although human kids nurse a lot, they are no competition for goat kids, which nurse for about 20 seconds every five or ten minutes that mama is standing up. And when mama starts to walk away, goat kids don't let go easily!

And I'm still trying to figure out why animals with only two teats often have three or four kids!

Anne's kids

Hello all! This is Margaret, Deborah's eldest, filling in while she is away on her birthday weekend.

Well, we had a bit of a surprise on Friday. I checked Anne's ligaments in the morning before I went to work and thought they were there, though I did notice her udder had bagged up a bit. Later that afternoon Mom called me.

"Did you check Anne's ligaments this morning?"

"Yep. They were there."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Would you bet money on that?"

"...No."

"Why not?"

"Because of the way you're saying that."

"But you said you were sure."

"Well, now I'm not."

Turns out Anne must have given birth around three o'clock that afternoon. Jonathan, my brother, was the one that found them at about five, and they were almost dry. So she did a good job on her own, at least. First birth we've missed this year. She had twin bucks that are well matched!

Cleo's babies

Cleo is actually Maly's Cleopatra, which means she was born in Margaret's herd. But with Margaret going off to college next year, she sold me all of her goats, which means lovely Cleo is mine. She is an absolute joy to milk, so when Margaret decided she didn't want goats any longer, I had to buy her. Now I don't need as many goats as I have already, so I said I was going to sell all the kids born this year. I have such a hard time parting with goats that have already become my friends, I figured the only way I'll ever reduce my herd size is if I just don't keep any kids for a couple of years. That's easy to say, but it is another thing entirely to actually carry through with it! This is Cleo's little buckling, and I think he's polled. You can usually feel buck's horn buds when they're born, and since I'm not feeling any, he is probably polled, but we'll need to keep checking every day for at least a week.

Now, how can I sell this adorable little girl with the cute white capri pants? She might be polled too, but it takes longer to figure out with girls, since they aren't usually born with pokey horn buds like bucklings. If she is polled and has these cute pants -- oh!

Now I need names -- any ideas? Cleo's theme is Ancient Egypt.

Cleo and Lizzie are mamas now!

So much has been happening the last couple days that I haven't had time to blog. Cleo kidded yesterday with buck/doe twins, and Lizzie kidded today with buck/doe twins. Both had fairly long labors, compared to our other goats. I knew Cleo was in labor yesterday morning when she wouldn't eat her grain and wouldn't stop talking to me. I sent Katherine outside to stay with her since I had to teach yesterday afternoon.

Cleo kidded around 1:30. Katherine said it was one of the most interesting births she's ever attended. The first kid was breech, but it was back legs first, rather than butt first, which is a fairly common presentation. She said that once the two legs were out, the kid started kicking wildly whenever she touched its legs. I've asked her to write up a blog post about it, but she's pretty busy with school. She started college this year and is taking four classes this semester, in addition to finishing up algebra at home. In any case, I will get up pictures of Cleo's kids tomorrow!

Last night, I went out to see Cleo's new kids, and I checked ligaments on the three other goats still due. Lizzie's ligaments were barely there. I may not come across as a satin PJ kind of gal, but I wanted nothing more last night than to put on my satin PJs and crawl into my nice, warm flannel sheets. After throwing a little pity party for myself, I decided that I couldn't risk having Lizzie kid in the middle of the night without someone there to dry off the kids, since the temperature was around freezing. I was pretty sure she was having twins, but I didn't want to gamble on that. Most goat mamas could clean up two kids before they got hypothermia in this weather, but probably not three or more. So I spent last night in the barn. Of course, she didn't kid.

Around noon today, I knew she was getting close. The upper part of her belly was completely hollow looking, meaning the kids had dropped. (See photo. Her belly isn't perfectly round anymore; there's a hollow area near her spine.) Poor girl couldn't get comfortable either. She'd lay down, push her legs out in front of her, get up, turn around, lay down, sit like a dog, get up -- you get the idea. At 12:30, I hurried inside for a quick lunch of Jonathan's pork chili. Then I was back in the pen with her at 12:45. She'd lay down against me, push a tiny little push, get up, take a couple steps, lay down -- and on and on. After an hour, I was about to fall asleep in the straw, so I decided to lay down on the futon in the barn office. Sneakers, the four-year-old barn cat, curled up next to me, and the next thing I knew, it was 2:45!

I momentarily wondered if I'd missed the birth. I had really expected Lizzie to kid sooner than that. Then I heard a loud bleat. Hmm . . . that could have been the sound of a goat pushing. A couple minutes later, I heard the unmistakable scream of a goat pushing. I pulled on my coat and went back out to sit with Lizzie. There was a bubble under her tail, so she was finally getting serious. Then there was another bubble. Oh dear, we had one of those last spring -- two kids were trying to be born at once. Then another bubble -- and another bubble! Yes, there were four bubbles sticking out of her back end. As a long string of expletives went through my head, I told myself she couldn't possibly be trying to give birth to four kids at once!

Then I saw a hoof in one of the bubbles. A few more pushes, and I saw a nose. Then I noticed there was a tongue sticking out of the mouth. Once the head was out, I realized it was quite a large kid. There was only one leg out, which the books will tell you is a problem, but it's never been a problem for us, and it happens a lot. A few more pushes, and a great big buckling was born! I didn't even look between the legs -- I was just assuming it was a buck because it was so big. Then I realized I hadn't actually checked the sex, so I lifted his hind leg as I was drying him, and verified my assumption.

With such a big boy being born first, the second one practically fell out. At least that's my perception. Lizzie might describe it differently. I did find myself scrambling to grab another dry towel, however, as I saw the second kid shoot out as if being fired from a cannon. One push delivered the head, and a second quick push delivered the rest of the body. There was no time for me to clean the nose before the little doe wanted to start breathing, so she did a fair amount of sneezing.

Both kids were up within 20 minutes, wobbling around the straw and looking for their first meal. The little girl caught on first and went back for seconds, thirds, and more helpings of mama's milk. The little boy took about an hour to figure out how the breakfast bar worked, but he's doing well now.

We're still waiting on Coco and Anne. I am starting to wonder if Anne settled when Draco bred her, because today would be day 150, and her ligaments were not soft when I checked tonight. Will we have more babies from Tennessee Williams?

Who's next?

Four goats are due, and it's tough to figure out who is going to go next. Anne reached day 145 on Friday the 13th; Cleo, yesterday; and Lizzie, tomorrow. I'm not sure when Coco is due. She apparently got herself pregnant one of the many times that Tennessee Williams jumped the fence.

From top to bottom, the ladies in waiting are Coco, Lizzie, Anne, and Cleo. (Sorry about the quality of the photo; it's my cell phone. I can't find my camera.)

Coco has been the biggest pregnant goat, however, for at least three weeks. I thought she would kid around the time that Charlotte did, and my records indicated that Frankie had been loose five months prior to that. But she's still hanging in there, and goats -- at least Nigerian dwarf goats -- don't go more than 151 days, maybe 152, but you won't find any long-time breeders who would agree that they can go any longer than that. So, she definitely got herself pregnant during one of Tennessee's many jaunts into goat utopia. That's the problem with young bucks -- many of them seem to have wings on their feet, which makes flying seem as natural to them as walking. Clearing a four-foot fence requires little effort.

Back to Coco -- she's big, and I'm worried. She was one of quads herself, and her sire's dam frequently had quads and ultimately had six kids one year, which resulted in her death. She gave birth to five kids, and who would have thought she was not finished? Five is incredibly rare. When she died a few days later, a necropsy showed another kid still inside her. Margaret doesn't think Coco is any bigger than Sherri was, and she only had triplets.

Cleo's udder has grown considerably today, which would indicate she's getting quite close. Her ligaments are also softer than anyone else's, so she might kid first. I'm guessing that Lizzie, Cleo, and Anne will all have twins -- and Coco, well -- I'm hoping no more than quads. Triplets would be great.