A few weeks ago another little goat was born. Actually 3 little goats were born. We were in the middle of a very cold snap and I grumbled to myself a little as I drug out a bale of hay to use as bedding for the new little members of the farm. Mommy goat was not real sociable and didn't particularly want me messing with her babies. I did what I could to dry the little ones and make them a warm bed for the night. I even crawled out of bed in the middle of the night to go peek at the little critters and make sure they were doing alright.
All was well, as far as I could tell. But by the time morning rolled around, I was disheartened to find only one little goat alive, and he was barely alive. I took the poor little animal up under my coat and rushed home with him. I have started to develop quite a "sophisticated" goat ER in my kitchen. Upon returning home with a half frozen baby goat here's what you need to do:
1. Gather all old towels and rags you have and throw them in the dryer. Turn dryer on to highest setting. Let run for 5 minutes or so while holding baby goat under your shirt to keep warm with your body temperature.
2. Open dryer, if warm and toasty, lay little goat inside. Cover up with warm towels.
3. Mix small amount of molasses and corn syrup together and finger feed to goat for a quick sugar boost and hopeful return to consciousness.
4. When dryer begins to cool, wrap goat tightly in warm towel, remove said goat from dryer and start over with step 1.
Those are my official steps so far. I'm 4 for 4 for rewarming with this technique. Unfortunately, those steps seem to be the easy part....
My kids were elated to find a new baby in the house. (much more so than I was) Trey decided on the name Patrick and Kayelynn insisted that Patrick was her goat baby. I have to admit, I was down about the thought of having to bottle feed this little guy around the clock when I still had 2 other goats on the bottle. But watching the kids faces light up when they saw the little goat changed my perspective quite a bit.
It is a challenge to keep the kids from over-handling the new little goats. They have no concept of how stressful their "hugs" can be to a weak little animal. I tried to limit the "loving" from the kids.
I set my alarm for every 3 hours during the night to care for our new little Patrick. I became more and more disheartened as the night went on. I didn't see the improvements I was hoping for. The little guy wasn't responding like my other goat babies had. On top of that he began to scour. (that seems to be the nice way to say he had a really bad case of diarrhea)
The next day Patrick grew even worse. I tried to get an electrolyte solution in him but he was too weak. I dripped small amounts of the fluid into his little mouth as often as I could. Trey noticed the decline in Patrick.
"Mommy, Patrick still looks sick."
"He is. He's very sick" I replied.
"Why isn't he getting better?"
Oh the tough questions! I answered Trey's questions the best I could and tried to prepare him for Patrick's death. Trey seemed to be following me and reluctantly accepting what was happening to Patrick. He sat quietly beside Patrick for a long time. Then he looked up with bright shining eyes, " Lets say a prayer to Jesus for Patrick."
I agreed. Trey wanted me to pray and he would repeat the words after me the way the kids did at church. I did. We said a simple prayer asking God to help Patrick. We said "amen" together but then Trey started again, " Patrick has diarrhea God. Please fix his diarrhea." I laughed a little to myself that Trey had felt it was important to specify Patrick's main ailment.But, with that said Trey got up and headed for the living room. "Ok, he's gonna get better now!" Trey added excitedly as he headed off to play. I sighed. I looked at the sad little goat and had serious doubts that he was going to get better.
I approached Trey again later about the goat's decline. "Trey," I said. "I'm not sure Patrick is going to get better." Trey's little face wrinkled up with this news.
"Why?" was the question again.
"Sometimes, we do all that we can do but we still can't make an animal get better."
"But I don't want Patrick to die" Trey said. I noticed the little quiver starting in his lips. I struggled for a good explanation that he would understand. I remembered a conversation Trey and I had had a few days ago about who was the boss of who. He was very curious about who Daddy was the boss of, who Mommy was the boss of, who Grandma was the boss of, etc.
"Jesus is the boss of everybody" I told Trey. This caught his attention. His wide eyes told me he was listening. I went on, "Jesus is the boss of you and me and all of the animals in the world too. He knows what is best for all of us, and the animals too. So, if Jesus thinks it is best for Patrick to go to Goat Heaven, we have to try to go along with that and remember that Jesus is the boss. He knows things that we don't know about that helps him make all of these important decisions about sick goats and things like that."
"I still don't want Patrick to die"
"Neither do I." I agreed.
A few hours later I knew God's answer to Trey's prayer was "not this time". I did all I knew to do and gave the little goat the best chance at survival I could. But in the end, our little Patrick died.
When Trey saw that the laundry basket (Patrick's bed) was empty. He looked at me with teary eyes and said, "he died, didn't he." I nodded. I tried giving a happy image of Patrick frolicking with his siblings up in goat heaven. It didn't seem to matter much. Trey was already distracted by Kayelynn who was wandering through the house calling for "goat baby Patrick". I heard the distress in her voice as she searched more and more places. I followed her to my room where she was peeking under the bed. "Paaaatwickkk" she called out. I started to intervene but then noticed Trey sitting beside his sister patting her back.
"Sister, let me tell you a lesson about Jesus. He is the boss of everybody......"
A smile crossed my lips.
I wish it was as easy for me to remember as it was for Trey to accept that Jesus knows best. This is part of the reason I adore my children. They help me remember the simple lessons that make life more bearable. I can think of many terrible things that have happened in my life. I have called out to God more than once "Why me?" or "Why this?" With time (and an occasional reminder from my children) I can understand why certain bad things had to come to pass. Bad things are always hard to swallow but it helps me to remember that there is a reason for all things. " To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven."
