Here she is, enjoying herself on the rock pile dumped there by the excavator who dug my septic tank hole. The little goat has wiggled her way into my heart. Every time she hears my voice she screams and runs from wherever she is to be with me. Her eyes are a gorgeous blue and her mohair is soft and lovely. I still remember finding her lying flat on the hay and tube feeding her on Easter morning. I had come into the milk room expecting to find her dead, instead she was standing up in the laundry basket. She lived in that laundry basket on the oven door for several days, keeping warm in the freezing cold weather. When I tried to give her back to her mother, Celeste, she said no deal, I don't want that baby, I have one and that is enough. So Velvet became my responsibility and my joy.
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