Goodbye Gretchen, Hello Graham

On Saturday morning, April 3rd, our little brown-eyed Nigerian Dwarf doe appeared to be in labor. Out in the pasture she had separated herself from the rest of the herd, and while she is usually quite skittish around me, on this morning she allowed me to rub her neck and shoulders, indeed she even leaned her face against my leg. Also, by standing apart, periodically straining, and doing some stargazing, Gretchen communicated her imminent delivery to me. Over the course of the morning I constructed a separate stall for her within the maternity stall in the barn, and then stocked it with clean bedding, fresh water, hay, grain with alfalfa shreds, and loose minerals and baking soda.

At 2:30 p.m. I trudged down to the bottom of the home pasture and tried to lead Gretchen up to the barn. She resisted. I picked her up, dodging her horns, and carried her uphill. When I set her down in the barn so that I could open her stall, she stiffened and threw her head back--a posture communicating distress. After settling her into her new digs, I was concerned that she started out with her head flung so far back that her little horns touched her shoulders, but she soon shifted into a normal posture.

At 3:30 p.m. when I checked on her, she showed the thick, white discharge of mucous that generally precedes birth. She was still amenable to attention from me and again leaned into me when given the opportunity. Most of the does who generally avoid contact with me will allow me near shortly before and for some hours after delivery; Gretchen's behavior fit the profile.

At 4:30 p.m. a little hoof and a nose appeared--not the desired combination--so I slipped on fresh gloves, repositioned the kid, then helped her deliver a fine little buckling. She lay down immediately after birthing him and continued straining, presumably to pass the placenta. I cleaned him off for her: clearing his nose and mouth of mucous, drying him off, and snipping and dipping his umbilical cord. Although her udder had filled in preparation for birth, neither of her teats had become engorged and I was unable to milk her for the shaggy new kid. A call down to the house got colostrum cubes retrieved from the freezer. (Thank you, Marcie, for the abundance of colostrum you provided upon losing your twin kids this winter.) A digital exam revealed no second kid due to arrive, so this singleton buckling became the focus of my attentions.

The little guy--an adorably cute fellow with a buckskin coat, dark brown dorsal stripe and socks, a white spot on his head and some on one side, and mottled white ears--accepted the name Graham as I carried him down to the house. Earlier in the season a new up-and-coming country music star-to-be had visited the farm (wearing that second hat that all new artists need to produce income). He had been struck by little Tony's coloring, and this new kid's is similar so he was named for Graham.

In the house I melted colostrum cubes in a baggie dipped in hot water and heated the milk to 102 degrees, filled a soda bottle, attached a Pritchard teat and settled into a chair with the little guy on my lap. He nursed like a seasoned trooper. Nostrils flared, he latched onto the nipple and suckled with determination until most of the warm liquid had vanished. I was well pleased with his survival instincts and carried him back to the barn to see if his mother had passed the placenta intact.

We found Gretchen still down on her side, and now she was periodically thrashing her legs. Still retaining the placenta, despite my best efforts to ease it on out of her, she was not doing well. Although it was Saturday, I pulled out my phone and called the Kinslow Clinic that had closed midday. I was hoping for the outgoing message to provide instructions for emergencies, but the phone rang 25 times (yes, I counted) without being picked up. Assuming that someone had forgotten to set the machine for night calls before leaving for the day, I figured I would just muddle along with little Gretchen. After all, I was merely seeking advice over the phone--this goat did not warrant a pricey house call.

As the day wore on, though, Gretchen continued to thrash while retaining the placenta. My tugging on the discharge only revealed white sinews within as the afterbirth tore apart in my gloved hands. When dark arrived I hiked back to the house to explore emergency veterinary clinics online. After a couple of dead-end calls I pulled up the Kinslow Clinic's YellowPages advertisement and saw that they provided 24/7 on-call support, and so I tried that number again.

I was grateful when Dr. Whitlow returned my call promptly. I had seen him in action a couple of weeks back when I had chauffeured a neighbor's doe to the clinic for assistance and I had been favorably impressed. He proved to be just as helpful on the phone as in person; however, the verdict was that Gretchen needed to be put down. Although I had suspected that, I wanted to hear it from a veterinarian before putting the poor gal out of her misery. His call sealed her fate.

After settling Graham in a Rubbermaid tote in the house, gathering trash bags and a loaded gun, and bringing Gretchen downhill away from the pasture, I eased her passage with one quick shot behind the ear. In the darkness I could not see the damage done, but as she immediately relaxed and became quiet I gathered the shot had been effective. Her limbs continued to twitch a bit, more slowly, but she stopped breathing and I could detect no heartbeat, so I bundled her into garbage bags to contain the blood and placed the bundle in a trash can with a tight-fitting lid. The can rolled into the kennel with no trouble, and I locked it within the chain link enclosure to deter predators overnight.

With carrion we must be concerned about inviting predators onto the property. In addition I take great care to keep the dogs from tasting goat blood lest they develop a yen for it and compromise their value as guardians. The trash can in the kennel addressed these concerns.

Overnight we bottle fed the buckling. He was less eager to take the nipple than he had been at first, but once it was in his mouth he latched on well and nursed. In the morning he would come with us to Nashville for we had promised to bring a small petting zoo to church for Easter Sunday. Even though his dam was gone, little Graham was strong, vigorous, and vital.

This morning Graham proved to be the hit of the petting zoo. Children, teens, and adults all wanted to hold the soft bundle. Graham cooperated well and charmed all who met him. Dozens of photos were snapped of folks decked out in Easter finery doting on the little kid who was not yet a full day old. Graham is off to a good start!