Comet was a Nigerian dwarf goat who left a positive mark on this world. He was an ambassador for my farm, loved everyone, and made a lot of people happy over a few days.
When Comet was born he didn’t look like he was long for this world. He was one of triplets, and the runt. He had trouble breathing and required warming and swinging to get him going. If goats had Apgar scores, he was probably a 4 at birth and then an 8 or 9 at five minutes. I took him in the house after making sure that the mom and the others were all right.
The little gold-and-white goat came around pretty quickly after getting his first colostrum from a 7-up bottle topped with a Pritchard teat nipple. I spent that first night waking up every 2-3 hours to feed him warmed goat milk.
Then it was time to get ready for the 2001 Oregon State Fair. Comet would be going as an exhibit. Because he had no mother—other than me—he couldn’t stay with the other goats. No one would protect him and he had already missed the critical time to learn about nursing from a mama, if she would even have him.
Back then, the State Fair administrators allowed to sleep with our animals. I took along an extra cage so that Comet could share the pen where I slept. He could use that for naps and to sleep in at night. I also took him a leash and collar. He had spent the first week of his life learning to walk on a leash and he loved it!
I knew something was wrong with this little goat, but I wasn’t quite sure what. His tininess had me worried. He seemed to be thriving on his four times a day diet of warm goat milk, though.
After a morning of packing, herding goats into the van, and double-checking that we had everything we needed—buckets, clippers, milk stand, hoof trimmers, hay, grain, collars, leads, first aid kit, cot, sleeping bag, broom, food—we headed for the fair. The day was sunny—the last gasp of summer—but my mood was upbeat. This was the highlight of show season, with the last show of the year. It was also a time to renew friendships with other goat people and buy new goats for breeding.
We got there and then, in a flurry of activity, unloaded goats, van, and equipment. I had to put straw in pens, determine which goats go in which pens, rearrange, move them in, haul water, set up feeders with hay, and set up tack and sleeping pens. Once all of this was done, it was time to start socializing with old friends, despite being so tired I could drop.
Comet’s job, most of the time, was to sit in his pen and look cute. When I got tired of asking questions or hanging out with other goat people, I would take Comet out walking. He was probably all of two pounds, just a little bit of guy, but he walked proudly on his leash. And we were the center of attention.
“Look at the cute little dog! Omigosh, that isn’t a dog, it’s a goat! Can I pet him?”
“What’s his name?
“How old is he?”
“What kind of goat is it?”
“Can I hold him?”
Over the five days at the fair, Comet probably met several hundred people. I never got tired of seeing their eyes light up when they saw him. Little girls flocked to see him, elbowing each other out of the way to be the first to hold him. He had his picture taken with countless people of all ages. Comet was a star!
On the last day of the fair, Comet’s energy started to wane. As the day wore on, he became warmer and started having trouble breathing. I consulted some goat people about what to do, conferred with the fair veterinarian and started him on antibiotics. It looked like pneumonia, which can kill kids fast. Comet continued to go downhill.
I panicked and asked the goat superintendent if we could leave early. My request was granted and we loaded up the van early, avoiding the big rush. We drove home, unloaded goats and supplies, and got Comet settled in a carrier in the kitchen. It was 8:00 pm and after dark. I was exhausted.
I gave Comet another antibiotic injection, while he cried out in pain. I felt so helpless. It was a holiday night and no vets were available. I didn’t know what to do. I put a little t-shirt on him and made sure he was warm. I gave him a bottle of warm water with electrolytes, but he seemed indifferent.
I went to bed around 10:00; I needed some sleep and he did, too. I could only hope that he would make it.
At 2:00 am, I awoke with a start. Comet! I hope he’s okay! I walked out to the kitchen, wearing only a t-shirt and looked into the cage. Comet’s breathing was even more labored than before. He had mucous coming out of his nose. I held his little body next to mine and gently wiped his nose. “Oh, Comet, I love you.” I told him. I felt crushed; I had reached the end of my abilities when it came to veterinary care. This was only my third year raising goats, and I had no veterinarian to call, even if I could afford to save a little runt goat.
For the next hour I carried him around the kitchen, his hot little body curled in my arms. “Comet, please don’t die,” I pleaded. I didn’t want to give him another shot of antibiotics because I could see how much it hurt the little guy. I didn’t think it would work anyway, at this point.
My heart breaking, I put Comet back into his little cage and went to bed. I knew I was losing him and I couldn’t face it. I felt like a failure.
When I got up the next morning, the cage was gone and Comet was gone. I looked at Dave.
“I knew he was going to die, so I went to bed. I couldn’t deal with it.” I told him.
“I know, honey,” he said. “It’s okay, I buried him for you. There was nothing you could do. He just wasn’t meant to live.”
Seventeen years and hundreds of goats later, I still remember and miss little Comet. He brought more joy to more people in his short time on this earth than many of us do in a lifetime.
