Sometimes I wonder how much heartbreak a heart can take.
I recently shared about the birth of our twin boy goats, Arlo and Apollo. Apollo was rejected by his mother, so I brought him inside to care for him. We knew from the beginning that he wasn’t doing well. He struggled to learn how to drink from a bottle, though eventually he figured it out.
Over the last—almost—eight weeks, he had several ups and downs. Good days, bad days, and even a few really amazing days. But this past week, new problems started to show. By Friday, he was struggling to nurse from his bottle, only drinking a few ounces throughout the day. Then came the very stinky burps.
On Saturday, the weather felt summery, reaching the upper 70s—78 degrees where I live. I thought maybe some fresh air would help him. He spent about an hour outside, walking around and trying to eat grass. He couldn’t figure out how to actually eat it, so he just slid the blades between his teeth and lips. The kids and I tried breaking pieces up smaller for him, but he still wouldn’t eat them.
When I saw he was getting tired, I brought him inside. He drank two ounces, and I felt a little hope that maybe he was turning a corner. He went back to sleep on his fuzzy blanket.
Throughout the day, I kept checking on him. If he was awake, I offered his bottle, but he refused. By the time we came inside for the evening, I knew he wasn’t improving. He got up and walked around, so we let him out of his pen to roam the living room. After some research, I learned that stinky burps can indicate a rumen problem, so we tried home remedies—baking soda and an electrolyte mix—in hopes of helping him turn around.
He tasted a little baking soda, and almost instantly he fell over. I picked him up to make sure he was okay and hadn’t hurt himself, just like you would with a young child. I gave him some electrolytes with a syringe to wash down the baking soda still on his tongue and because he looked like he was choking. He also wasn’t taking the bottle with the electrolyte mix.
I ordered a pizza and went to pick it up while Apollo napped. When I came home, I was talking to my husband when Apollo suddenly began to seize. I knew instantly he was declining fast. After we ate, I put him on the couch with me, and he had a few more seizures.
As everyone got ready for bed, I knew I didn’t want Apollo to be left alone. I also knew in my heart that he likely wouldn’t make it through the night. I turned off the lights, leaving only the red LED strip that had been his night light for weeks. He had three more seizures before taking his last breath.
I held him the entire time, rubbing his face the way he loved, and he kept cuddling up by my neck. I kept telling him, “I know, buddy. It’s okay. You were my little fighter, and I love you for the joy you brought into my life.” As he took his final breaths in my arms, I felt his heart take its last beats, and he let out his final breath.
I held him a little longer before wrapping him in his blanket for the night so we could bury him in the morning.
This morning, before the sun came up and before the kids woke, I buried him while the rain and snow fell. Before placing him in his resting place, I moved the blanket and looked at his little face. He looked like he had a small smile—like a final “I love you, Mom.” Seeing that, I felt something different than I have with previous goat losses.
He knew he was loved. He closed his eyes in peace, held in my arms, loved more than any other animal we’ve had on the homestead. I got to see his precious little life begin. Rejected by a mother who probably sensed he was sick, he still had the will to live. In his short weeks with us, he was never more loved or cared for than he would have been in the barn. He always had someone to pet him, hold him, and remind him he wasn’t rejected by us. He went from one mom to having several caretakers. He became a member of the family, just like the dogs.
Apollo was our first bottle baby. And while I hoped and prayed he would get stronger and beat the odds, the odds were not in his favor. But he didn’t give up without a hell of a fight. And seeing how hard he fought, I don’t regret stepping in. Even if I had known from the beginning how this would end, I would have done the exact same thing. I still would have become the adopted goat mom Apollo needed in his precious, delicate little life.
