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Our favorite goat, a Nigerian Dwarf doe about 7 years old, gave birth yesterday. We were gone to town at the time, of course, and when we got home we found her out in the back corner of her pen cleaning up a newborn kid. Closer inspection showed me a dead kid between her and the fence. She has produced twins and one set of triplets consistently, always in her shed, and never needed any help. This time things changed. I picked up the dead kid and carried it around the other side of the yard and buried it.
When I came back, she was groaning and straining, so I expected to see another baby pop out. Not this time. She had afterbirth hanging out the back, which is unusual as she usually cleans everything up. I got her up and walked her to her shed, carrying the baby. It was obvious there was at least one more in there. She was as wide as she was tall. I got her a bowl of warm water with salt and baking soda added, and she gulped it down. Thinking things would be right shortly, we went about our evening business, feeding the other goats, chickens, etc.
We went out periodically to check on her, and she was still groaning and occasionally straining. Of course. Friday night, no vet available, as usual. My wife said (as wives are inclined to do) "We have to do something." Turns out that was the "royal we", meaning me. So I washed up, convinced the goat to stand up, and started my hand into her backside. Not happening. My hands are too big, and I was stopped by the lower joint of my thumb. I looked at her, and she gave me the deer in the headlights look, shaking her head. "No way!" At that point we came in the house and went to bed.
This morning at 0545 my eyelids popped open, and I made the trip out to check on the goats. Mama and baby were still alive, mama still in distress. I finally convinced my wife to cut off her long fingernails that she was so proud of, and have a try at the goat. No go. She had closed up overnight, and there was no way even my wife's much smaller hand could get in there.
I came in and got on the phone around 0830, finally finding a vet that was open. He was booked up until 10:15 and was not willing to interrupt any of his appointments. So we loaded mama and baby in the back of the car and went to town. Fortunately the wait at the vet's office was short, and he came out to the car to see the patient. After a little poking and prodding, he agreed there was at least one still in there. We got her out of the car and into the back door of the building. The surgical suite (storeroom) was prepared, clean old bath towels from the vet's wife were spread around, and he injected the sedative. She got glassy-eyed and collapsed on the table. From that point it was practiced teamwork, Doc and his 3 female assistants gathering instruments and getting her tied down to the table. One of the helpers shaved her belly, and the surgery began. My wife and I watched from a window in the door as he sliced her open and started rearranging various innards to get to the kid. Soon a back leg was hoisted into the air to applause from the helpers, and soon the rest of the baby was out and on a towel.
One of the helpers took the baby and towel off the table and sat on the floor as she began trying to revive the kid. She worked tirelessly as Doc closed and stitched up mama. It seemed obvious to me that the baby was deceased from the outset, but that young lady put her heart into trying to save it. No such luck.
Doc finished cleaning up the table and set about trying to wake mama. It took about 10 minutes to get her eyes to flutter open, then closed again. Her head lolled about like her neck was a rubber band, but finally she was able to steady up. We wheeled her out to the car on a gurney, loaded her up and came home. My wife was proud that I didn't even faint during the surgery.
Mama and baby are still alive, mama is still in distress, but not for the same reason at least. I cleaned out her shed and furnished it with fresh pelletized lime and pine chips on the floor, then set up a fan to help cool them in the 102 heat. I've managed to get about 90 cc of molasses water into her and maybe a quart of water. We're bottle feeding the baby until she's up to standing for him to nurse.
Tomorrow is a brand new day, thank God.
When I came back, she was groaning and straining, so I expected to see another baby pop out. Not this time. She had afterbirth hanging out the back, which is unusual as she usually cleans everything up. I got her up and walked her to her shed, carrying the baby. It was obvious there was at least one more in there. She was as wide as she was tall. I got her a bowl of warm water with salt and baking soda added, and she gulped it down. Thinking things would be right shortly, we went about our evening business, feeding the other goats, chickens, etc.
We went out periodically to check on her, and she was still groaning and occasionally straining. Of course. Friday night, no vet available, as usual. My wife said (as wives are inclined to do) "We have to do something." Turns out that was the "royal we", meaning me. So I washed up, convinced the goat to stand up, and started my hand into her backside. Not happening. My hands are too big, and I was stopped by the lower joint of my thumb. I looked at her, and she gave me the deer in the headlights look, shaking her head. "No way!" At that point we came in the house and went to bed.
This morning at 0545 my eyelids popped open, and I made the trip out to check on the goats. Mama and baby were still alive, mama still in distress. I finally convinced my wife to cut off her long fingernails that she was so proud of, and have a try at the goat. No go. She had closed up overnight, and there was no way even my wife's much smaller hand could get in there.
I came in and got on the phone around 0830, finally finding a vet that was open. He was booked up until 10:15 and was not willing to interrupt any of his appointments. So we loaded mama and baby in the back of the car and went to town. Fortunately the wait at the vet's office was short, and he came out to the car to see the patient. After a little poking and prodding, he agreed there was at least one still in there. We got her out of the car and into the back door of the building. The surgical suite (storeroom) was prepared, clean old bath towels from the vet's wife were spread around, and he injected the sedative. She got glassy-eyed and collapsed on the table. From that point it was practiced teamwork, Doc and his 3 female assistants gathering instruments and getting her tied down to the table. One of the helpers shaved her belly, and the surgery began. My wife and I watched from a window in the door as he sliced her open and started rearranging various innards to get to the kid. Soon a back leg was hoisted into the air to applause from the helpers, and soon the rest of the baby was out and on a towel.
One of the helpers took the baby and towel off the table and sat on the floor as she began trying to revive the kid. She worked tirelessly as Doc closed and stitched up mama. It seemed obvious to me that the baby was deceased from the outset, but that young lady put her heart into trying to save it. No such luck.
Doc finished cleaning up the table and set about trying to wake mama. It took about 10 minutes to get her eyes to flutter open, then closed again. Her head lolled about like her neck was a rubber band, but finally she was able to steady up. We wheeled her out to the car on a gurney, loaded her up and came home. My wife was proud that I didn't even faint during the surgery.
Mama and baby are still alive, mama is still in distress, but not for the same reason at least. I cleaned out her shed and furnished it with fresh pelletized lime and pine chips on the floor, then set up a fan to help cool them in the 102 heat. I've managed to get about 90 cc of molasses water into her and maybe a quart of water. We're bottle feeding the baby until she's up to standing for him to nurse.
Tomorrow is a brand new day, thank God.
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