At this point I realize that none of us really have any clue what we're doing. Kenny has worked here for three years, but never has to make decisions about anything, and while he pays attention, he mostly just awaits instructions... Bernardino has worked with animals before, so probably has more knowledge than Kenny or I, but still hasn't worked all that much with goats - especially during birthing. We don't even know if the feet are what's supposed to come out first. I call Michael and he assures us it sounds normal - he had to run into ABQ to deliver restaurant orders for a few hours... So, we watch. She becomes more distressed... contractions become stronger... At one point she lays on the ground, rolls on her side and cries....then gets up, stumbles into the windbreak (panels of metal stood up between fence posts) and leans her torso into the metal with her legs splayed to the side, lifts her eyes to the clouds (and I swear at this moment she is praying...for instant relief or a bolt of lightning to put her out of her misery). She stands back up and we call Michael again....reaaaaally? Is this what's reeeeeally supposed to be happening? I mean... it looked like torture...?!
The baby's nose appears and we see the little tongue, but then it all gets drawn inside again and we see nothing... She rests...contracts again and we see the tongue and the hooves... She's acting more agitated - gnashing her teeth, curling her lips, rolling her eyes a bit. She starts to make more noise...is breathing heavily. I called a lady who has goats who lives nearby and has recently started working for the dairy and she says, given the amount of time this has been going on, we need to pull... Kenny and Bernadino had been saying that from maybe 5 minutes in, but I felt like that was an absurdly short amount of time, and while she was obviously in pain, I also felt like....she's built for it. And she can do it... and intervening so early would be cheating her of something she is fully capable of doing herself... I felt somewhat irritated by their "let's get in and fix it for her" sort of mentality...protective of my sister in distress and her right to see this through. I mean, she's carried this thing for 5 months...Give her 20 minutes, okay boys? Sheesh. And back OFF. They'd gotten so close so quickly...hovering over her with their concern, and while she didn't shrug off their ear scratches, I felt like maybe she just needed some space and privacy and time to re-energize...Ear scratches and hearing "it's okay, mama" were not going to cut it. It was most certainly not okay.
Anyways... After a while, though, I started getting anxious too... And describing the signs of her distress over the phone to a woman who has owned goats for over 15 years, and then being reassured the time had come to intervene, I felt better about it... I knelt in front of her and rubbed her neck and back and she started licking my face - not very common behavior - nibbles? yes, licking? no. Bernardino puts on gloves and gets behind her, I put my arm around her neck and brace my inner thigh against her chest... As he inserts his finger and slides it around the opening while she contracts, Dog lays all her weight into me trying to get away from him (and the pain, I imagine) and bellows like I've never heard before. It was one of the most intense moments of my life...She was just absolutely desperate - and this crazy mixture of serious power and heartbreaking helplessness all in one loud cry...Aiya, the ache. I just held her in place, but all I wanted was for her to be able to break free and run from it all, too... It only took a couple of these contractions before the head came out and with a gentle pull on the legs the rest of the buck-ling slid out... She instantly turned around, still breathing heavily and began licking him.
Funny that Michael saying, "oh, it all sounds normal, she's fiiiiine" and Kenny and Bernardino wanting to step in and pull it out after 5 minutes both made me so irritated. I mean, I obviously didn't know what to do, but I felt really deeply that there needed to be a balance between giving her space and respecting her ability to do this, and being ready and able (and knowledgeable/skilled enough?!) to step in and assist her (effectively and safely and compassionately) when the time came... And really, I mean, I'm not a mother. I have no idea what it required of her to make this birth happen, but I felt really intensely that they had even less of a clue than I did. Which isn't really fair...pulling the gender card. But, man, I felt so in it with her...you know? She may not have had any feeling of connection whatsoever, but there was a sisterhood in my heart at that moment...and I ached for her. I'm still recuperating...obviously. And I feel even more villainous than before separating this doe from her buckling considering what I experienced with her this morning... Ouch.
He is the biggest of the babies thus far...by far. Within a few minutes he was up and trying to nurse...after 20 he was starting to play around like the Sunday babies are just now starting to attempt - little hops, scratching his chin with his back leg... climbing onto his now resting mother laying in the corner.
Now that he's nursed - just a couple times - he's not a fan of the bottle. I hope that won't complicate things too much...but if so, oh well. It was worth it to see what it's supposed to be like. And even while she was contracting to expell the rest of the afterbirth and placenta, she was so focused on him - licking him all over and grunting back in forth in an obvious conversation between mother and son... I could see the relief in her face. :)
Because he's so large and was likely saved from estrangulation or suffocation by a wonderful guy named Bernardino, I'm thinking this little buck should be named Bernard...or perhaps Beethoven (remember the never-ending series of St. Bernard movies?)...Plus, he is rather pale. : p
More later.
Love to you all,
Julia.
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