A Bad Year for Goats: Lessons in Love, Loss, and Resilience

When we first moved to the farm, I had this dream of raising goats—sweet, playful little creatures bouncing around the pasture. So, naturally, we brought home a group of bottle baby goats. They were tiny, adorable, and completely reliant on us to feed them. Each bottle-feeding session made me feel like I was nurturing something truly special, and those goats quickly became part of our hearts.

But then, reality hit. Not long after we settled into our routine, one of the goats fell ill. We rushed him to the vet, hoping for some miracle that would bring him back to his happy, bouncy self. But the vet looked at me with a sad expression and said it was too late. My heart broke when that little goat passed away.

I tried to be optimistic, focusing on the ones that remained. But just a few days later, I found two more goats lifeless in the barn. It was gut-wrenching. How had things gone so wrong, so fast?

The last goat, my little fighter, got sick too. Desperate to save him, I went back to the vet. He handed me a solution and told me to give it to the baby every half hour, around the clock. So, I did what any desperate goat mom would do—I brought him into bed with me. I held him close and set an alarm every half hour to give him the solution. I was determined to keep this one alive. I poured all my love, hope, and energy into that night.

But the next day, much to my heartache, he passed away too.

I was crushed. I had worked so hard to save that last little goat. When I asked the vet what had happened, why all of our babies had died, he just shook his head and said, “It was a bad year for goats.”

It wasn’t the answer I wanted, but maybe it was the only one he had. Sometimes, despite all our love, care, and effort, things just go wrong. It was a hard lesson to learn—that sometimes, no matter how much we try, things don’t go the way we hope.

But here’s the thing: Even though we lost all of our sweet baby goats, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. That short time with them taught me about the depths of my own resilience. I learned how much I could give, how deeply I could care, and how to keep going, even when the outcome wasn’t what I wanted. Sometimes, it’s not about the happy ending—it’s about the love we pour into the journey, even if it doesn’t turn out the way we imagined.

"A bad year for goats," the vet had said. But for me, it was also a year of growth. A year of learning that life on the farm—like life itself—is full of both beauty and loss, and that every experience, good or bad, shapes who we are.

The next year, I decided to try again. And this time, things went better. But I’ll never forget that first year, or those little goats, and the reminder that love, no matter the outcome, is never wasted.