Our mightily pregnant nanny goat finally gave birth at dawn on December 12, el Día
de la Virgen de Guadalupe. She had TRIPLETS spaced about an hour apart. My son took one look at them and declared them “unremarkable”. They are white, with no real distinguishing characteristics.
Since they were born on such an auspicious day, the smallest, of course, had to be named Lupillo, in honor of La Virgen. It’s still a common practice for babies born on a particular saint day to take on that name in our area of Mexico. All of my husband’s siblings were named that way. However, we couldn’t name all three the same.
December 12 of this year will go down in infamy as the day Mexican icon Vicente Fernandez died. So it was no stretch of the imagination to christen the other two goats Vicente and Fernando in his memory, shortened to Chente and Nando.
Chente was born with weak ankles. He had a set of pipes on him that let everyone know his frustration when he couldn’t keep up with his brothers. My husband crafted a set of splints to shore up his ankles and Chente was up and around in no time. After about a week, the splints were removed and I’m happy to report that Chente’s ankles seem much stronger.
This birth wrapped up the fecundity of the Flores Ranchito for 2021. It was a particularly difficult year on all accounts. I am hoping that 2022 will bestow blessings on our animal kingdom (and human inhabitants) beyond our wildest dreams. Or at least I hope we manage to muddle through again like we do most years.
Manchas confirmed she was not pregnant by going into an agonizing heat cycle. She was miserable. Fuzz was annoyed. Cocoa was baffled. We were at our wits’ end trying to find something to calm her. Fishy treats lasted all of 2 seconds. Catnip was sniffed up in record time by Fuzz.
We were extra careful to keep her in the house. Her last escape was stressful for everyone. And now that we could confirm she was not pregnant, we needed to make arrangements for her sterilization.
The space capsule came out and we corraled Manchas in it. She hated it. She hated the ride. She hated the sun and shadows. She hated the traffic. She hated the dogs at the vet. When it was our turn, we explained that she didn’t like men and that she was very fast. The vet, who was a woman, made a special note that she would take care of the operation or at least the anesthesia administering, rather than passing it off to her dad, the head vet and that she would make sure that when the capsule was opened, it would be in an enclosed space.
Since Manchas had eaten at 5 that morning, the operation couldn’t be done until later that afternoon. So we left her there, still in the space capsule, to be picked up at 5 p.m.
We were first in line when the vet opened his doors and rushed inside for our little Manchas only to find out the vet had FORGOTTEN to give her the operation. She was still in the space capsule in the corner of the shop. He said he’d do it right then and to return in an hour. So we did.
She was totally wigged out, as is to be expected after such a trauma. The ride home was terrifying for her. When we got her home, she insisted on dragging her body from one end of the room to the other–shadows spooked her but she seemed to recognize Fuzz, Cocoa, and my feet. I tried tucking her in her basket, but she kept getting out. I finally just let her situate herself for the night–and I don’t know where she slept. Her face was filthy in the morning.
The next day she could walk better but was in obvious distress. She didn’t want to eat. Fuzz was ok with that–more food for him he thought. The vet gave us pills to give her in lieu of a daily shot since I know she wouldn’t be riding in the space capsule ever again. I tried dissolving it in milk, but she wasn’t interested. She wouldn’t eat it mushed in her food either.
By day 2 she was up and around and starting to eat. She was even more tolerant of my son and husband, at least as tolerant as not running from the room every time they approached. My son even said she let him pet her and PURRED for a few minutes. Now that’s something. By the end of the day, she had managed to remove her bandage, but she wouldn’t let anyone check her surgery site for infection. She wasn’t having any of those pills either. So we kept an eye on her and hoped for the best.
About a week after her operation, you couldn’t even tell she’d had some major trauma. She was back to her regular, curious self. She even curled up with Fuzz again, now that those hormones were out of the way. They took up playing hide and seek in the mornings after breakfast. Manchas has a decided advantage though. Not only is she more fleet of foot than lumbering Fuzz, but she isn’t blind in one eye. They both seem to enjoy the game though, so no harm done.
In the past month, we’ve had a bit of goat drama in the soap opera that is our life.
First, there was Lil’ Blackie. He picked up a mesquite thorn in his hoof, which was removed promptly, however maybe a piece got embedded deeper because over the next few days he went from limping to listless to unable to walk. We started an antibiotic treatment which seemed to help some of the swelling, but after a week, he was just getting worse. After a night of little goat crying and what seemed to be lockjaw paralysis, and talking to Azul the vet, we decided the best course of action was to end his misery.
Stinky Chivo has been the leading actor in our drama life lately. With his ladies in heat, he’s become mighty aggressive. On several occasions, my husband has had to wrestle him into submission to tie him and come in smelling to high heaven.
Stinky then decided to take the show on the road. The other day, when he was supposed to be grazing, he took offense at the shoveling actions of some workers on the other road. They tried to scare him off by throwing buckets of water on his head. That just enraged him more. My son and one of the workers manhandled the beast and retied the raging goat. As soon as he saw he couldn’t butt heads anymore, he went back to grazing peacefully.
Usually, when our macho goat gets this aggressive, we trade or sell him. This year we’ve run into some difficulties since the normal animal market in Puruandiro has been suspended. Furthermore, the young heir apparent, the next oldest macho in the herd, is still too young to assume the throne. So we’ll just have to restrict Stinky’s movement until the estrus cycle is over.
We’ve also been inundated with coyotes in La Yacata. They are always present, but their nightly howls have become direwolf in nature. It freaks Cocoa out (and me too if I’m honest). This morning, my husband reported that a coyote had nearly made off with one of our babies. Coyotes being wiley and all, Cocoa didn’t even notice it until it had already lunged. Fortunately, the goat-napping was averted although the little one lost her tail, but it served to remind us that the goat herder needs to keep a close eye on his charges.
Surviving Mexico 