Village Squire, 1980-04, Page 19You're
Icidding'
Baby goats say "Pardon us for butting in but
BY YVONNE REYNOLDS
Bambi was our nuisance goat. While Don trimmed her hooves,
she picked his pocket. As he bent over to refill the water pails.
she snatched his toque from his head. If there was a gap in the
fence, she was the one to find it. I should have known better than
to invite two couples for dinner that day she was slated to end her
five-month pregnancy. However, I assumed I was safe, as every
other lady in waiting had brought forth a day ahead of schedule.
The due date arrived, and Bambi was still pregnant. I had
planned the evening with military precision; guests would arrive
at six and we would sit down to eat at six -thirty. When my
husband had not returned from the barn and evening chores by
5:45, I dashed out to see what had delayed him.
One glance into the maternity ward confirmed my worst fears.
Bambi was in labour. We watched with very mixed feelings as
first a tiny foreleg, followed by a little muzzle, rhythmically hove
into sight, vanished momentarily, then reappeared. Our reverie
was interrupted by the sound of tires on gravel. Our guests were
right on time. I rushed toward them, hoping to head them off at
the pass, but as soon as they heard my news they insisted on
accompanying me back to the barn.
Bambi was not very pleased wiih her audience. Using the
prerogative given to some animals but not usually to humans,
she switched into neutral. All labour seemingly stopped for the
moment. She began to eat hay, ignoring both the spectators and
the target of their fascinated stares --a protruding, perfectly
formed, soft as putty little hoof. She was not, to say the least, an
edifying sight.
Realizing that nothing was going to happen with all of us
standing around, I suggested that perhaps if Don stayed to see if
Bambi needed assistance and the rest of us adjourned to the
house and our dinner, things might progress more rapidly. All in
favour. Motion carried.
We were ready to serve dessert when Don came in. "I had to
Straighten the other leg that was bent back" he said, "and she
had one good-sized buck with no further trouble."
"Isn't that just like Bambi", I exclaimed. "She disrupts our
dinner and then produces a little billy." (Women libbers, take
note. In the goat business, the female is the valued and desired
gender.)
Two hours later when everyone, including my husband, had
eaten his and her way from appetizer t cfterdinner mints, Don
decided to check the oats one last ti ,e hefore morning. He
returned in a few minutes wearing a bemused expression.
"There are now two kids running around the pen", he
reported. "The other one is a girl, and Bambi had it all by
herself. She didn't need any help from me."
The five of us leaped to our feet and raced to the barn. This
time Bambi was delighted with her audience and proudly,
possessively, hovered over her offspring, making the maternal
murmurings heard only when a nanny is communicating with her
kids. For half an hour we watched two tiny creatures wobbily
exploring their environment and awkwardly nuzzling their
mother - the awesome, ever new miracle of birth.
Our guests thanked us profusely for a memorable evening.
They hardly mentioned the food, but gave the spontaneous and
unrehearsed floor show rave reviews.
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VILLAGE SOUIREIAPRIL 1980 PG. 17