Primrose

We used to keep the goats for milk and meat, but now they’re mostly pets. Mum says she has got too old to take the billy kids to slaughter. I never realised it was such a big deal, but maybe I’d feel different now. We’ve all got older.

It was Mum who noticed the growth on Primrose’s udder, when she was taking the goats out for their first day on the field. They winter in their shed. I came out in my pyjamas to check. I held Primrose’s horns while Mum knelt down by her back end and tried to feel. She was feeling guilty about not having seen it before.

The vet came later that day. I was busy inside and missed her knock, so it was Mum who took her round back. Primrose was back in her stall and not wanting to be disturbed, so they climbed in with her. The vet squeezed a mess of pus out of the udder onto the straw. She’s brought an apprentice with her who took over holding the goats head while she showed Mum the injection sites for the antibiotics: One low on the flank and one between the back ribs. Right into the muscle. The one into her back made Primrose’s back legs buckle. Mum said we wouldn’t be trying that one again. She asked if she should squeeze the udder again and the vet said maybe it would help. The apprentice stroked Primrose’s head and told her she’d been brave.

The vet left us with a collection of ready made syringes and a bottle of milky liquid which we had to measure out ourselves. Mum told me she couldn’t face stabbing in the needle.

Primrose is our oldest goat. We’re not sure exactly how old she is, because she was one of Mum’s rescues. She came with a small black haired sister, their owner claiming that they couldn’t care for them any longer. The sister died soon after. She was in a stall with Primrose and we worried that it was Primrose keeping her from her food, but they’d always been stalled together before. Maybe the move was too much for her. Primrose is our only goat with horns. She rubs and sharpens them against her stall door. By the end of the winter they are worn down to the quick and ooze blood. We also worried that it was Primrose who battered her sister to death.

The morning after the vet’s visit, Mum and I went out to the field. I took the two syringes and Mum took a jug of warm water washed through with iodine. We had divided our labours. The first needle went in relatively easily. I was frightened of hurting her and my hand shook. Goat skin is thick and it is work to push the needle through. She flinched and bucked a little, but Mum held her and I wrapped her tether chain around my foot to save her bolting. The second needle was larger and wouldn’t take, so I swapped the needles over and managed to get the medicine in.

We changed places as Mum washed the wound. Primrose kicked back, but Mum just moved round and got a good amount of water over the udder. Mum said she’d closed her eyes while I gave the injections. I told her I couldn’t look at the sore. Neither of us offered to squeeze the udder. The vet had said maybe. Maybe we’re both too old.