Daisy kidded on the twelfth. I counted four, decided I had counted wrong, and counted again.
Most goats have one or two. Three happens. Four is rare, and it is not a thing you want to be working out before coffee.
Here is the part nobody warns you about: a doe has two teats. Daisy had four kids. You can see the problem, and so could she. She took to the boys and would not let the girls near her.
So the girls came in the house. There was no plan. There is never a plan.
Bottles every few hours, day and night. They are Thelma and Louise, and they are as much trouble as that suggests.
The boys are Hank and Willie, and Daisy is a devoted mother to the half she kept. She is not being cruel about it — she is keeping alive the two she can actually feed. Goats are practical animals. The sentimental one in this arrangement is me.
All four are doing well.
Daisy’s whole story, from pet goat in town to mother of four, is now a picture book you can read here for free.