Tinarama, goat doula

A couple of weeks ago I went to my friend's place to give the goats their shots again and happened to arrive just as this nice lady goat was giving birth to twins. She was very matter-of-fact and undramatic about it, even though it was her first time – in fact, her attitude was so casual that at first she seemed more interested in getting back to the food tray than in taking care of her babies. I distracted her with a handful of grain while one of them got himself into nursing position, and later guided the other one's mouth in place until he figured out how to suck. I also recorded them on my cell phone, bleating loudly and desperately for their mother to come back each time she left them to scrounge for more food. Apparently mama goats can get very hungry after giving birth.

Also, thirsty. I learned that unlike dogs, who drink by lapping up water with their tongues, goats (at least the ones I know) drink by slurping it up with their lips and then raising their heads to swallow. She made the most charming little delicate sipping noises as she drank.

I had forgotten how bloody and primal and, in a way, kind of disgusting birth is. All those fluids and smells.

[An aside: When I was in my 20s I seriously considered becoming a midwife. I got several months into training with a couple of homebirth midwives before it finally became clear to me that I wasn't actually all that interested in the physical, "medical" experience of pregnancy and birth – it was the psychological, social, metaphysical and philosophical angles that I wanted to explore. In other words, as with so many other things in life, I preferred to observe it and think about it – document it – rather than do it myself.

That isn't true for everything, of course. I've gone to great lengths to secure certain experiences for myself. The experience of raising humans, though, just never became a driving need for me the way so many other things did. If it had, I would have found a way to do it.]

This is Teddy, the little brown and white goat I fell in love with last month, when he was only a day old. I've been invited to take him home to live with me, if I wish, along with his sister Olga and possibly one or two more. My friend wants him to go to someone who will keep him around for awhile, not butcher him and eat him after a year. And here's something cool, on the theme of experience vs. observation: I love it that when I look at this picture, I can remember in my hands exactly how his fur feels, and the little nubs of his horns that are still too small to see, and the soft pads of his feet where his hooves haven't grown out and hardened yet. I know what he smells like. I've touched my nose to his nose and felt the inside of his mouth sucking on my finger. I know the shape of his hipbones and the way the fur ends in a clean straight line along the bottom edges of his tail. I know that he knows me, too.

I haven't decided yet if I want to get into keeping livestock. They're sure cute, though, when they're little.