One cold March night several years ago, Sunshine was born in my barn in Iowa. Wet and weak, she struggled to make her little Angora goat legs hold her up and then she looked around for something to eat. I was sleeping on a cot next to her mama’s birthing pen, so I saw her stumble over to her mom and try to get some warm milk. Mama just wasn’t interested. She wasn’t a year old yet herself and this whole baby kid business was more than she could handle.
After a couple nights of trying to get mama and baby to bond, I took Sunshine into the house with me. I’d made sure she received the rich colostrum milk all babies need in their first hours of life, but it was clear that her mother wasn’t going to provide her sufficient food so that she could flourish and grow strong.
Do you know how you can tell if a baby mammal is getting enough to eat? Just stick your finger in its mouth and if the baby’s mouth is warm that’s a good sign. If it’s cold, you need to intervene because that baby needs help.
I took care of Sunshine from the very beginning and she rewarded me with her playful antics. I tried many times to get a good picture of her, but she would run so fast to get near me that I could only capture a blur. I loved to watch her catapult herself around the barnyard on her stiff, strong legs. I enjoyed her companionship and cuddles.
Besides giving me so much entertainment and love, Sunshine helped me take care of her kid cousins, Moonbeam and Starshine. Those two girls were lucky that their mamas welcomed their births with instructive nudges and warm milk, but as a result they weren’t so willing to follow my directions. Time after time, Sunshine would lead them into doing what I needed them to do. She led them into the trailer so we could visit the vet and somehow let them know everything was going to be all right.
Because I took good care of her, Sunshine trusted me. And I knew I could trust her, too.
Carol Harker