8:00 p.m. When I check on the goats, Jennifer is breathing quickly. Short, sharp breaths. Methinks she's going into labor. I vanish and can hear her lie down again. The new bucklings bleat and their momma answers; I hear Jennifer grunt and shift her out-sized body.
Almost 9:00 p.m. Jennifer is moving more now--shifting positions, standing, streatching out, pawing at the bedding. No sign of any new noses protruding.
Edging toward 10:00 p.m. I'm nervous. Why isn't Jennifer's labor progressing? I check online and receive a quick refresher on proper presentations and how to correct improper presentations. When I reach the scenario where one reaches in and feels neither nose, nor rump, nor feet, but ribs (!) and read that the kid is likely already dead, my concern grows. Try to move the dead kid out of the way and usher the live kid(s) into the world, then pull out the dead kid?!
I don't feel up to the task, but go scrub up, trim my nails, gather warm soapy water and fresh clean rags and a water-based lubricant. Oh my gosh, these goats are so tiny. I'm supposed to reach inside her?!! Guess I'll start by checking her heart beat, not that I'm adept with a stethoscope at all, but t's a place to start.
Jennifer's heartbeat is strong and steady, not racing in distress or thready with exhaustion. I cannot detect any heartbeats around her bloated midsection, but I chalk that up to my ineptitude and choose to assume the kids are fine. I hang up the stethoscope, wash my hands again, and reach for a warm soapy rag with which to clean off her rear end.
Stimulated, she expels a fresh pile of feces, then a strong stream of urine, then more feces. That's it, girl, I think. Keep pushing. But she just grunts and paws. Time to grab the lube.
Thumbelina's backside could stand cleaning up, I notice and want to start there but Jennifer's backside is closer and facing me, so I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry girl, I just need to check that everything is all right," I say as I place cool lube on her vulva. She allows my examination as she did with the stethoscope, but like any female she's not keen on the pelvic exam and backs onto my fingers--making my job easier for a moment before she turns away.
Apologizing again, I give her a break and clean some of the blood and mucous off of Thumbelina. I'm struck by the quantity of fluid that has worked its way out since she was pretty clean when the afterbirth came clear. The littler buckling stands to nurse between her front legs and I watch for a minute then interfere and point him toward Thumbelina's udder. Okay, enough stalling.
This time I wrap an arm around Jennifer's chest then slip in fingers of my left hand. Moving a bit then stopping to allow her to accomodate my presence. Feeling badly for violating her in this way, but determined to set any stuck kid to rights. Her cervix is fully dialated; this is good. I feel countless folds in her uterus without encountering any kid, take this as a good sign--no one is stuck at this point, heck they're not even qued up to enter the birth canal. I give the gal a break, clean up, and beat feet out of the maternity suite. The does are doing just fine without my interference.
11:00 p.m. Thumbelina and her kids are resting under the glow of the heatlamp. Jennifer is stretched out, head erect, chewing her cud and grunting with every breath. Her eyes are clear. Poor gal, seems like all is normal. Hang in there little goat.
Midnight Why oh why is this taking so long? Again I consult the 4-H online page Pre/Post kidding preparations for dairy goat does and kids. Little Jennifer is showing most of the early labor signs listed: restless, pawing at her bedding, tail up, swollen vulva, looking back and stargazing, but she doesn't seem to be making any headway. Poor gal. She is certainly not having any fun this evening.
1:00 a.m. Duh! I get it--finally. Phase One: Early Labor is NOT the beginnings of delivery, only signs of labor starting well before delivery. Well before, like long before. Now I can stop hovering and leave Jennifer be. When she's ready to progress into real labor, I imagine she'll do it. Until then, I need not be worrying about any stuck kids at this stage of the game.
What finally clued me in? The sign she is not showing is a white discharge--like Thumbelina had so clearly earlier. Indeed, as of yet there is no discharge. So that's it. I'm going to bed. Perhaps she'll have made progress by the wee hours when I'm sure to wake up and check on her. If not, at least I hope she won't be showing such signs of discomfort. It's like her body is not her own and I imagine she just wants to get back to her everyday comfort level.
Is this where the phrase "labor of love" was born? I wonder...
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