But you know what trumps chickens? Goats. Tiny little baby goats.
Every time.
I rest my case.
Meet Chocolate Chip.* She and her sister Ice Cream* were born to veteran momma Truffles this afternoon while I was running errands. Sometimes being a farmer is hard, like when your cow has a horrible birth that ends in a dead calf. Then sometimes you go to a craft store, geek out on ribbons, decorations and fancy paper and get goat kids, too. It's a crap shoot.
When I pulled up to the house I noticed something small and black in the paddock next to Truffles. Hey I thought we don't have anything tiny and black out there... I wonder what that is?... OH MY GOD IT'S A BABY GOAT!
I may or may not have abandoned my own kids in the car to go check.
Ahem.
There were in fact two little bitty things running around. Well, wobbling. And bleeting. Oh the little baby goat cries, they just melt your heart.
We moved momma and babies into the barn with a warming light as well as food and water. Then we all stared at them. Mainly we were wanting to see the kids nurse successfully but in their wee confused state they tried to nurse anything and everything but the teat. Some long hair on Mom's tummy. Her front leg. The barn wall.
It was cute, is what it was. Stupid cute, but still.
We are happy to report that before we wrapped up barn chores for the night we saw everyone get a healthy drink in. Phew. Now I can sleep tonight.
And as a farmer, that's no small thing.
*Names have not yet been approved or confirmed by the girls. Fair warning that they may be named Barbie and Sprinkles by morning.
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