![]() Buttercup was evidently cheered by Molly’s presence and the two often kept to Buttercup’s end of the paddock together. We had agreed to temporarily foster another doe, Molly, who was actually Buttercup’s sister. I did some research and learned that animals can experience post-traumatic stress and will, for example, avoid locations where past trauma occurred. Before the birth she didn’t mind, but now things were clearly different.īuttercup also seemed to avoid the side of our paddock where she had given birth. Even without his reproductive powers, Lance was still a romancer. Lance by that time was a wether - we loved him, but bucks smell terrible. She had healed well from the birth, but something wasn’t quite right.īuttercup did not want Lance Romance near her. ![]() She didn’t seem as happy, even around her kids. We noticed after this birth, though, that Buttercup had changed. Buttercup, happy at her new home with Heather Pooler in Brewster. Reaching in, I was able to help deliver three kids, and although the first one did not survive, the other two, both big, healthy boys, did. That day, I didn’t know if she or the babies would make it. The first kid was not positioned right, and the vet couldn’t get to us in time. Then, suddenly, Buttercup was in distress. This time it was she who was not feeling well and needed care and comforting. I checked on her day and night, sitting next to her, stroking her fur. Back then, Lance Romance lived on the farm - theirs was not a drive-by affair - so we couldn’t be exactly sure of her due date, but I was worried. First, Buttercup didn’t go into labor when we expected her to. The second time around, though, as I’ve written here before, things didn’t go so well. Our two other pregnant does had harder births, waking me in the night with their labor struggles, but Buttercup was a natural. I barely made it to her side in time, and she barely needed me there. On a sunny late spring day in 2020, she lay down in the hay and, within minutes, twins were born. The smell of hay on her fur felt comforting in the way only the simplest things in life can.īeing with farm animals, companions to humans for centuries, whose milk and meat fed our forefathers as they feed us, reminded me that life goes on beyond our time on Earth.īuttercup was the first doe to give birth on our backyard farm. And when I cried, Buttercup nuzzled my ear with her soft nose and tried to eat my clothes. Their silly faces made me laugh even when laughter was the last thing on my mind. During many of my darkest times I sat with our goats. A year after Buttercup came into our lives, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Later, I learned that our animal friends also sometimes mother us. If we are allowed to admit to favorites, Buttercup soon became mine. She was three months old, curious and kind from the start. She and her sister came to us from another small farm when we were novice goatherds. Buttercup was not born in our back yard, but she was the kid that made me a goat mama.
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