These young goats are half-sisters born during the cold stretch this past winter.

The goat on the left, Schneehopli, endured a traumatic birth. Her snout and front hooves were successfully out. But she remained squeezed so long in the birth canal, I feared she might be dead.
Her tongue protruded. It was cherry red.
I also feared for the mother—how much longer could she remain in limbo?
My husband held on to the mother goat while I pulled on this kid’s front hooves during contractions and she finally, finally popped out. Her mother was too traumatized to stand and wouldn’t bother with her at first.
With fervor, this was the first time I ever prayed, “Dear Lord God, may there not be a second goat in there!” Though we all know it is a little late for a prayer like that, lol.
After being scrubbed dry, this kid goat tottered to her tiny hooves and insisted—no, demanded—to be fed.
She turned into our most rambunctious kid. I’ve never seen a goat run laps like a thoroughbred—pure joy. We’ve called her simply “The Race Goat” for so long, I had to think hard what her real name is.

The goat on the right, Dolly, arrived during an easy birth.
(I say “easy” generally. Pain goes hand-in-hand with birth.)
But after a contraction, her mother turned a half-circle to grab a bite of hay and Dolly slid out. Plop!
Her mother was extremely attentive to Dolly and her twin. But she nursed weakly and looked more like a rag doll (rag goat?) than a living, breathing kid.
After some time spent in our very warm house next to the woodstove, she perked up and took an interest in eating and living in general. Back to her mother she went.
And here they are. They are destined to stay here with my herd and provide milk like their mothers.

…I like to muse over their beginnings…