I've certainly kidded my fair share of goats over the years, and I've certainly had my share of problems. Yesterday "City Lights Anna Molly" went into labor. Molly has two grand-champion awards; she needs one more to retire as a Permanent Grand Champion. Before Molly can compete again, she needs to produce a live kid and have it registered with the NPGA.

Molly was was spot-on from the time she was born, and I just really liked her.  Molly has a lot of structure and character that I'm looking for in a goat.  She's won nearly every time I've shown her and has been my "great white hope;" with one more win, she will be my first PGCH in my herdname.

All day yesterday, Molly labored and appeared to be going along normally. She didn't appear to be laboring hard and never really laid down and pushed.  I kept expecting her to get down to work, but nothing really seemed amiss. I watched all day and all evening. Dorian was over, as was Marty and some other friends of Allan's.

By 9p.m., I'd gone down for a nap, because I figured I'd be up doing midwifery duties later on.  Dorian stayed over in the guest room (because she's an awesome friend!).  Dorian checked at 11 pm.  I got up at midnight, checked Molly, and lay back down on the couch.  ***in retrospect, this is where I should have intervened ***

Between 1:30 and 2, I went back down and sat with her.  It wasn't until then I could feel a "bubble."  From here on out, only people who know goat-speak will be able to follow along.

Up til then, I'd been checking Molly; although she was dilated, I could feel nothing.  I was sort of thinking that those babies were just really deep into the horns, and she was slowly working them up.   Remember, she still wasn't pushing or straining.  She'd, sort of, squat and urinate and push a little.  And even now that I could feel the bubble, I still couldn't feel anything behind it.  By 2:30 or 3, I knew we were in trouble; but I also knew that whatever was going on, a few more hours weren't going to change anything.

 By 5a.m. she had the bubble out, unbroken.  Then I could feel a baby behind that -- tail first.  At 5:30, I called Donna (another incredible friend!) and Dorian drove Molly out there.  Donna pulled the kids -- FOUR OF THEM; all dead.  What happened?

From 3 a.m. on, I had had plenty of time to contemplate life with goats.  It wasn't until then I remembered that Spot, Molly's mom, had not been a good kidder.  She did (deja vu here a little too late, here) what Molly had done -- never really pushed or strained at all.  Her first kidding had a buckling born dead, then I literally went in and pulled Molly out.  Spot passed the placenta; I thought we were done; and twelve hours later, Molly started pushing again and out came another dead baby.  Her second kidding, the same thing.  Spot kidded a doe, passed her placenta, and twelve hours later -- another dead baby.  Spot died in her third kidding.

I am very saddened to lose all of Molly's babies; but as time has passed, I've become more pragmatic.  It's impossible not to lose them sometimes.  It's nature; it's what happens.  But is this something I want to continue to do?  I hate losing them.  I hate seeing the doe cry and look for their babies.  I hate selling animals and not knowing where they will go and how they will be treated.  As much as I love the babies and playing with them and showing, they really are my pets.   So do I want to continue on breeding just so I can show?

Should I rebreed Molly so I can get a live kid to register?  I know of people who have taken pictures of dying or dead kids, just so they could register it and continue competing with the doe.  Where do you draw the line? What if there is something genetic that Spot passed to Molly?  Do I want to perpetuate that?  Maybe it's just a fluke, a coincidence.  Do I want a ribbon that badly?  Sometimes, no matter how old we are, we still don't know have all the answers.