And so Phoenix came to live with us when she was two and a half weeks old. I'd talked to her breeder on the phone and by email. Another friend knew the breeder and vouched for the herd's health.
I picked up the doeling in the breeder's barn and carried her through the cold February air. When I put her in the crate in the car, the breeder asked me if I had a name picked out. She said that the does in this line all had names beginning with F: Felicity, Fantasy, Philosophy (well, it sounds like F), and so on. I said her name would be Phoenix, and we both smiled. It was perfect in every way, my little phoenix rising from the ashes of the fire, and a name beginning with F, sort of.
For several weeks she was our only goat. Since she was an "only" and because it was cold outside - and just because I wanted her to - she lived in the house with us until I got Firefly. Fortunately we have tile floors!
Phoenix bounced through the house, chewed on my straw broom, nibbled hay messily, investigated everything, and tap-danced on the coffee table. When I'd walk from one end of the house to the other I led a parade of Phoenix, 3 big dogs, and 3 cats. Each afternoon she'd collapse exhausted into my lap for a long nap, and my heart finally began to heal.
We'd spend sunny mornings in the backyard, with Phoenix wearing a homemade coat. She spent the nights in the super-size dog crate in the mudroom.
And then Firefly came, and Phoenix went to live in the backyard (and not a moment too soon).
She's now nine months old and so friendly, even though she now knows she's a goat and not a human.
She's a calm and confident doe, and very sweet. I wonder if she remembers those naps in my lap?
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