Rest in peace, Mildred
posted in General, Raising Goats, The Bad Stuff |Mildred didn’t make it, and I’m taking it worse than I thought I would. I don’t think I’m cut out for farm life.
She was one of the two goats we milk. You sort of get attached to a goat when you milk it every day. When John bought her two years ago, I went and picked her and Nan up in my little pickup truck. They bawled all the way to the farm. Then when I let them out into the pasture, they took off running like scalded cats, and it was a day or two before they’d come up to the barn.
Then, when we tried to get them to the milk barn, that was an even bigger ordeal. We tried to coax them with the leash, but they wouldn’t budge. Then we tried dragging them. But they weren’t going anywhere, and that was that. Finally we had to pick these two full size goats up and carry them. I guess that’s when I really bonded with ‘em. But after a few weeks of carrying them, they finally realized that there was lots of feed in the milk house, and they started coming out willingly.
In her two years, Mildred gave us four babies that lived. We’ve still got Li’l Orphan Annie in the house where we’re bottle feeding her. She also gave us hundreds of quarts of fresh goat milk. Now, it’s all up to Nan.
I feel bad that we didn’t get any pictures of Mildred the other day. After she gave birth she was listless, and I was worried about her. Then yesterday she was even worse. We brought her in the milk house to keep her warm, but she wouldn’t eat at all. We did get some water down her with a syringe. I was pretty sure last night she wouldn’t make it, because she didn’t bawl when we shut the door and left her. Goats hate to be alone, and normally she’d have been wailing like mad. But she didn’t. Whenever I’d go check on her, she’d just be standing, with her face buried in the corner. We knew she loved apples, and around 11 last night we got her to eat a couple. I’m glad her last meal was her favorite.
John got up around 7 and checked on her, and she wanted out, so he let her out into the yard. Around 10, he asked me to take her to the vet. She was sitting by the barn, and when I went to load her in the truck, she couldn’t walk, or even stand up. I knew it was all over then. I was angry at myself for not getting her to the vet yesterday.
When I got to the vet, he told me what I already knew, that there was really nothing he could do. He said it was just a matter of her being old and worn out, and bringing her in the day before wouldn’t have helped. We thought she was around 3 or 4, but the vet said she had to be around 8 years old. He gave her a shot, and she was gone instantly.
He couldn’t dispose of her, because the rendering plant won’t take sheep or goats anymore due to mad cow disease concerns. Whatever. So when I got home, I had to bury poor old Mildred. John helped me load her into the wheelbarrow, and we took her collar off, and then we made the long trip down past the pond and into the woods.
I’m glad she’s not suffering anymore. And now I feel bad for all the times I cussed her and called her Mildew. And man I wish we’d taken her picture.
I’ll be back to writing about losing 100 pounds soon. But I wanted to say goodbye to Mildred.
Rest in peace, old girl. I hope the apples were sweet.
