It died on me. After all the nursing and all the hoping, it died on me.
It's mother stopped producing milk too early. It does not recognise the bottle, and it obviously do not survive well on solid food alone..it did not survive at all. My dad is away from home, and in a twist of events I became it's care taker. My mom didn't think it will survive for long, but it didn't seem like a dying kid to me. Yeah it became too weak to walk, but it sure didn't act sick. Its bleat was so loud you could hear it above all the other goats. This morning it could bearly sit up yet it ate. It ate like a strong bull and wagged it's tail, like when a kid drinks it's mother's milk.
It's timid mother ran away at full speed at my slightest move, yet was interested in the feed in my hand, more interested in the feed than in its dead kid. Doesn't suprise me, it left the kid alone in a dent in the ground two days ago. I found the kid, thanks to its mighty bleating, and carried it home. It was too weak to get out of the shallow dent itself, yet when I help it up it walked. I fed it with specially prepared feed...feed soaked in milk. I also fed it tapioca leafs, the goats love it. It had begun to get up walk on its own again. Now I held the feed in my hand, and I just...stood. It had stopped bleating.
Did I feed it too little when it was healthier? Did I feed it too much when it was weak?
I'd miss it simply because I miss admiring it's courage...my little bleating, nameless goat kid.
