I sometimes joke about this happening and it did. I went out yesterday morning and found my last little angora doe with a tiny wet bundle on the hay. I thought she was laboring to deliver another twin. Why couldn't this happen on the weekend? That would be just too convenient. It was seven o'clock - late to be starting morning chores, but the rigors of the shearing weekend, combined with some throat and chest issues (sucking up airborn debris while mucking/forking hay I think) are dragging me down. I got water and hay for everybody else and went back inside to prevail upon spouse to help me for five minutes. Found him naked as a jay bird admiring his punim in the mirror, getting ready to leave for work. He said he would get his work clothes on and be out in a minute. I needed him to hold mom's horns while I nursed out some colostrum for the baby. She had licked him off nicely and seemed to be very fond of him. I was feeling better and better about leaving them for the day. She was in with a bigger doe and her twins, almost a month older than this new baby. Sunday night we gave shots and wormer in preparation for letting them go but did not go so far as to take the panels apart. I was worried this older pushy doe would harrass the new mommy with her baby, but that was not the case. Big doe and her twins were lying on the other side of the pen, watching the birthing process with a kind of respect and reverance that really impressed me. She seemed to be saying to her kids, look at the new baby, isn't he pretty? I left for work and thought about them all day. It was torture, but I kept telling myself this is how I support them, yada, yada, yada. On the way home I made my first baby turtle rescue of the season, on King's Settlement Road, helping a turtle get all the way across on a fast curve. Felt good when two cars came whizzing by bumper to bumper after I placed the critter in the ditch on the other side. Down the road a bit more and there was another turtle, on the side of the road, looking like it had been clipped then spun off. Picked him up and no movement. I decided to take him home and put him near the pond, paradise for turtles. Wouldn't you know he perked up in the box and I heard scratching on the sides. After obligatory stops at PO and the Dollar Store for Friskies, I finally made it home. No twin. Just one little red buck. Everybody was fine. My phone rang and local hay broker Wayne Tanney was returning my call for hay. I may have pasture choking with grass but I still needed square bales for the moms in pens. Drove to North Brookfield and pulled up to Wayne's barn, with a crowd of Belgians milling around looking for food, and one being shoed by the farrier in the barn. Wayne said this is all he will give me until he gets more hay in. He says this time last year his barns were full. All this rain is creating havoc with farmer's haying plans. I brought home six bales of hay so pretty I thought of feeding it to Matt for dinner as salad. We took apart some pens and let two sets of moms with babies loose last night. Much screaming and chaos in the barn, with babies terrified of their freedom. Checked before bed and the barn was quiet with everyone together in their little families. I whispered hush and turned in myself.