Merriton

“Your goat isn’t fat. She’s pregnant. She’s actually a little young to be bred.” The veterinarian looked at Sierra and Randy disapprovingly. Sierra shook her head. “We didn’t breed her. She has been kept alone in our corral since we got her. I thought goats only bred in the spring?” The vet shook her head. “No, healthy goats can breed year ’round. This doe isn’t very healthy, though. Was she the runt of the litter?”

Randy shrugged his shoulders. “Elvis said she had been sickly. Could she have been pregnant when we got her?” The vet took off her gloves, rolling them into a small ball and throwing them away. “This is one of Elvis’ goats? That explains it. He can nurse anything back to health.” She talked directly to Mary, “Lucky thing you’re still alive, girl!” The vet looked at Randy and said, “No.” Randy looked at Sierra and then back to the vet. “No?” The vet looked at him. “You said you’ve had her for a couple of months. There’s no way she could have been pregnant when Elvis gave her to you. Knowing Elvis, there’s no way he would give you a pregnant doe.”

Doctor Chinsky felt Mary’s abdomen. “Without an ultrasound, I can’t tell for sure, but goats usually have two kids. She should deliver in about a month and a half.” Randy asked, “Does Elvis bring his animals to you?” The vet looked up from the distended goat belly. “Me? No! Elvis knows more about sheep and goats than I do by a long shot. He got his Doctorate in animal husbandry before I was out of diapers.” Sierra ran her hands through her hair, unbelievingly. “Elvis has a college degree?” The vet focused on Mary again. “Yeah, he got his Masters at Utah State and then got his Doctorate back East somewhere.” Sierra shook her head, “What’s he doing here?” The vet stood up and looked Sierra in the eye. “He’s raising sheep.”