Fears & Gifts

When Thumbelina and Jennifer took Thumbelina's twins out to play in the yard this morning, all that occurred to me was that they have a sunny, warm place to romp and play. The bucklings started their day climbing the "mountains" of wood beside some planter boxes and exploring the nooks and crannies beneath the piles. Perodically I checked on them and found they stayed together pretty well, and Thumbelina was attentive to their needs. Once I caught Jennifer tasting the bark from one of the young trees in our still-potted orchard, chastised her, and moved on--the tree would have to wait until later to be saved.

In the mid-afternoon Jeff stopped by to arrange a time to work on the "hot" portion of the fencing enclosing the rear acreage. I urged him to come up and meet our new twin bucklings, but when we arrived only little Walter was evident. "No matter," said I. "He'll turn up. He's probably asleep somewhere." Even so, we looked about a bit--under raised-box planters, behind pots, and beyond wood piles--without catching a glimpse of the younger twin. We visited and talked for a time, occasionally breaking away to perform less-perfunctory, more thorough searches without success.

At one time the dogs barked, jogging my memory and causing a painful realization. Earlier in the day they had barked furiously at one point, causing me to stop work in the barn and look down toward the house. At the time, I had seen no signs of any approaching vehicle or intruder and returned to work. Looking with Jeff, I was reminded both of the barking incident and the demise of Thumbelina's 2009 doeling--a sweet little tidbit carried off by a hawk on its first day out of the barn. The sinking feeling of regret and fear turned my previously-chipped mood to one more somber.

When I shared my fears with Jeff, he told me about watching hawks hunt and assured me that once I witness the phenomenon, I won't forget it. "They cruise about," he said, illustrating with his hands, "and when they spot prey they'll stop and just plummet, going straight down until they're just a few feet off the ground, then they'll unfold their wings with a phoomp! and the mouse, or whatever, is popped into the air by the rush of wind and the hawk flaps upward and sails off with the prey clutched tightly in its talons."

We looked a bit more, then moved on. At first I carried little Walter for safety, but we were leaving the orchard area where the does were penned, so I set him down. Thumbelina kept her remaining kid close by her side, and baaa-ed pitifully as she searched for little Will. I recalled how distressed and crushed she had been last year after her kid had vanished, at least with the remaining buckling by her side she seemed to be taking the loss more in stride. Feeling thoroughly deflated, after all how could I make the same mistake two years running? Just because the kids had been beside the house this time (whereas last year they had been out behind the barn when Jessica Lynne got snatched), why had I been so sure they would be safe? When would I learn from senseless errors and stop being so obviously wrong?!

After Jeff left and I picked up the mail and closed the front gate, I trudged back up the hill. The afternoon's sunshine couldn't touch me; I was officially depressed. When I stepped beside the house to usher the Nigerian Dwarfs indoors I was very surprised to find Thumbelina calmly chewing her cud while beside her snuggled both of her kids, curled up in a spot of sunshine, napping. Both of them! Yee haw! Although gratified, I had difficulty shaking the feeling of loss. The Nigerian Dwarf does and kids returned to the maternity suite--still in the laundry room--and I set about lugging buckets of water up the hill for the rest of our animals. (The hose has yet to fully thaw, but I'm hoping that will pass tomorrow.)

The first two 4-1/2 gallon buckets went to the dogs, birds, large dairy goats, alpaca moms and crias, and the spotted saddle horses. I figured two more trips might be enough for the evening; I would get out early the next morning, I promised myself. Carrying the second bucket of the second load through the upper orchard fence I slipped, dropped the bucket, and landed face down in the spilled water. Even though I managed to right the bucket before all the water was spilled, I was still disgusted with myself and soaked from nose to toes. The paint horse Lucy whickered from the gate and I looked up after rebalancing the remaining water. She would likely drink all of it, and I'd still need to make two more trips. Great. Just great. The evening's chilly air nipped at the wet clothing clinging to my skin. I couldn't finish the evening chores quickly enough; I just wanted to go indoors, change clothes, and turn off for the day.

The Tennessee Fainting goats swarmed down from the barn when they saw me approaching, and over Lucy's rump I caught sight of a bright black-and-white flash. What was that? Smaller than even Number Two (our smallest fainter), and brighter white than any coat exposed to daily life--did someone kid? Who? I had noticed a couple of the gals filling out but hadn't expected anyone to be kidding this week. The new momma was Gwen, the big black-and-white doe who had wanted nothing to do with me last year until her kidding in the freezing weather earned her a week in the laundry room with me responding to her every bleat with food, water, or special treats like fresh fruit and oatmeal. Since then, Gwen has accepted me fully; we're buddies.

Buddies or not, it was difficult separating Gwen and her newborn from the rest of the herd at the moment I should have been serving dinner to all. Eventually they were settled into the center stall of the barn, the rest of the goats were bedded down in their pen beneath the storage trailer, and I was able to move the heat lamp into Gwen's stall and tend to her kid. A doeling, this gal's name is Mary--and it appears that she is indeed related to Thumbelina's Walter because they both have the blue eyes and "goat jewelry" (wattles) sure to have come from BullyBob as their sire. Little Mary let me sing "Mary had a little lamb" to her while tending to her umbilical cord and examining her; she's a very cute gal--almost as pretty as her namesake!

All in all, today's gifts far outweighed my fears of the afternoon and I am thankful.