12.14.25 SUN – Raising animals is hard

For months, my shins have been spotted with purple bruises thanks to a little punk we named Stanley. He had a particular way of using his horns to tell me I wasn’t moving fast enough with the morning oats.

I spent all week counting down the minutes until the family from Omaha arrived; I was grateful to finally be rid of the bruises and the headache resulting from dealing with his antics.

Stanley was the first baby goat that I, personally, ever had to assist with at birth, but by now, I was more than ready to see him graduate into a breeding buck for someone else.

But then the moment came.

After the introductions were made, the sale was final, and his new owner’s trailer door finally latched closed… it was then that I heard Stanley’s first frightened cry, and the relief I had been craving all week was gone.

I took my last look at this beautiful, playful buck and once again saw the tiny, wet baby I’d fought to bring into the world.

It was at that moment I realized that the bruises weren’t just an annoyance; they were the physical proof that little Stanley was growing up.

He didn’t need me to step in and help anymore.

Stanley was now prepared to go be the king of someone else’s pastures.

Bittersweet.