Yesterday I introduced you to my hooved family of goats and it all started with the line…

I never gave it much thought, why I wanted FeFiFo to learn how to latch on to the nipple and suck better, until five weeks into “motherhood”. 

I don’t know about you but with that opener, I’d be pressing pause here to read Part 1 and catch the heck up. You can access the beginning right here. 

Now to recap quickly, FeFiFo was outside with Moo Baah for up to 20-minutes and, thankfully unharmed by the bigger, domesticated beast, while I drove into town. 

[This is Moo Baah below. You judge the size difference for yourself!]

So how the heck did he get outside? Because nope, I did not leave doors open to my island cottage…even though it is a safe paradise!

As we both ponder that for a second, let’s go back to the second question you might be having and that’s how he came by his name - FeFiFo.

Big name. Little dude. 

And well to share that, we must dive back into the story of me arriving home, opening my front gate with Moo Baah in tow, to find FeFiFo, the itty-bitty-baby there, outside and seconds later, head-butted by my original, full-grown goat. 

Yes, my heart all but stopped and then pounded double time as I scooped FeFiFo, did my juggling dance, and rushed into the cottage...Moo Baah on my heels. 

And left at the kitchen double-dutch door. I took a pause, a space, a breath, to collect my peace, still my racing pulse, and NOT revert back to the old pattern, which might have actually been to scream at a little, baby goat. 

Out of fear, mind you. But still, not helpful. 

Because when in fear, sometimes we let it rip, am I ‘right’ or am I ‘right’?!

The old me, totally would have had a meltdown.

The new me simply checked on Lucky B, the still tentative in movement black-bundle-of-shininess, who moved my way on awkward infant legs with little squeaks and baahs.

With FeFiFo, still cradled in my hairs, dinner deposited somewhere, and Moo Baah, the big beast on the other side of the door, I scooped up Lucky B and all but collapsed into a chair facing the ocean. 

[Statement of fact, not a brag, all chairs have an ocean view. Ahh… life is good.]

I cuddled both babies, as I took deep breaths, after first and giving FeFiFo a gentle pat down… 

Yep, I admit it. I checked for blood. 

And felt his racing heart, so hummed to him, as we three chilled in a chair and I surveyed the cottage. 

Not. A. Thing. Out. Of. Place. 

Not even a pee-puddle to clean up. 

So how the heck had FeFiFo gotten out..? I stared out the open windows as a tropical breeze drifted my way and thought, no f-ing way. 

Turns out it was the only way… and how he came to have a Fe added to the already present Fi of his name…

So now back to how FeFiFo came by the Fe.

Turns out FeFiFo must have FEARLESSLY jumped out the frigging window and sailed at least four feet to the ground. 

Okay, four feet, not much, right? Not when you’re five feet tall or more! But remember, this is a day or few-day-old baby goat here! 

A Baby!

Ouch.

Not only did he jump out the window and dive down to the ground, but inside he had to have jumped up onto something to get to the window that sits three feet off the floor. 

Talk about FEARLESSNESS and FORWARD thinking…

Man, I thought I was advanced, running away from home, with my Snoopy suitcase, when I was maybe six. 

Looks like I was a bit delayed compared to this little guy. 

Which leads me to circle back around to what I naturally, without conscious thought, did… 

Compare myself to others. 
Compare others to others. 
Compare. Period.

I started to compare little FeFiFo to Moo Baah. 

Moo who never jumped on any surface till he was three or four months old. For real.

Hmm, delayed, slow learner. Like his human mama, me, who was put in special ed, when there was nothing special about it! 

[ It was for the ‘slow’ kids back in the day, you-young-reader-you! ]

And there I go again. Comparing!

And don’t even get me started about Lucky B and his ability to jump. OMG, he is on every surface including the back of my sofa, my table, my desk... within a few weeks… 

Thankfully, he hasn’t been able to reach the kitchen counters…yet.

I kid you not.

And that’s now, but back then, back then Lucky B wasn’t yet steady on his feet and FeFiFo was running every which way.

And jumping out windows!

So now I compare FeFiFo with Lucky B’s growth and progress. There it is again, that thing we do — compare one thing or person to another. 

What good comes from comparing ourselves to another or our situation to another’s? Seriously, nothing good.

And if we’re not careful that leads to judgement, does it not?

When FeFiFo came to me he was slightly older, stronger, more mobile and interested in grass. As in he knew that grass was munch-able, he’d been around it, in it, but he wasn’t yet consuming it. 

He still needed milk.

But this showed me, he spent some time with his real mom, as a goat, before he came to be adopted by me. 

But slowly, as he refused to drink from a bottle, he lost energy. 

I had to use a syringe to get some water in him and then try some milk. 

At this point, he thought I was mom, so he wasn’t fearful of me, since meeting me at my gate, but he wasn’t a snuggle bunny like little Lucky B...yet. 

He was however filled with what I’d call anxiety. What I could only classify as separation anxiety.

[Baby goats are often left by mom to cry while she goes off to browse for food. It’s best to let the baby goats be as usually mama comes back. But sometimes, life happens… and well, a baby goat, alone, crying in the hot sun, after more than six hours, now pacing and looking for mama, yep. This is when humans tend to intervene.] 

Literally, he didn’t let me out of his sight. And when I moved too fast and he lost me, he’d immediately start crying and racing to find me.

As far as feeding, he started to gnaw on the nipple but didn’t seem to understand the concept of sucking. 

And this became a problem.

First, he wasn’t getting nutrients and would soon get weaker. 

Second, he was shredding my nipples and I only had so many!

FeFiFo was more interested in wedging the plastic between his back “molars” —

[ which I know is not the correct term for goats, but serves a purpose for all of us to comprehend, does it not? so-just-let-the-inaccuracy-go, Mr. and Mz. Farmer! ]

— to chew the damn thing. 

He went through two nipples like this, in a day, before I could say Noooo! Absolutely destroying them. 

Ah, yeah, sharp little teeth. 

Simply put, he was doing it all wrong. 

[Important, what I just said here, did you catch it. I’ll say it again and then circle back around…]

Simply put, he was doing it all wrong. 

He wasn’t able to suck from the front and I wasn’t convinced he was sucking very well from the side when he wasn’t killing the dang nipple.

I had a local Goat Lord (inside joke), excuse me, goat farmer share I should tickle above his tail and make sucking sounds, as that’s what the mother does. And this then prompts something in the baby to jumpstart his natural survival instincts.

One of which is to suck!

I figured Lucky B had the sucking sounds down pat, as he was chugging his milk like a pro. FeFiFo would hear that as they were side-by-side at all times, so I did the tickle motions but got nada.

I admit there was frustration on my part. 

I mean Lucky B was just so easy...latching on and done. Doing it right.

[Oh boy, did you catch it?!]

Even Moo Baah, who used to try my patience, but I was a different, impatient, emails-are-more-important-that-spending-twenty-minutes-bottle-feeding-you-damn-it, version of me back then, did it right.

I mean, I bottle fed Moo Baah for more than six months — yeah, we only know what we know when we know it.

And now I know that we wean goats off the bottle around three months of age…

But it’s worth a pause and a laugh to imagine a forty pound male goat, with long horns, trying to jump up in my lap while making baby sounds.

Cute as hell. Ridiculous as anything.

Are you hearing me here?!

Two years ago, I had trouble being kind and present. 

Present with myself, with a baby goat who was relying on me for survival, and present in the moment. 

Any moment. 

Now, being present wasn’t the issue. Nope, I was present with FeFiFo.

And I judging him. 

[ gasp ]

Getting real here...

His name shows just how much. 

Fe for Fearless. He flew out a window, ya’all. 

Fi. At first, this was what I called him and it was short for Dignified. 

He was. Or so I judged him to be.  Always slightly apart, aloof, separate from Lucky B and myself. 

Remember, Lucky B was less than 16 hours old when I picked up FeFiFo after he was rescued by a friend. 

He was older. Probably scared, hungry, tired, filthy and surrounded by everything new. 

From people to a car ride to another baby goat to being inside instead of roaming free with his goat mom. 

Talk about a recipe for stress. 

Plus, he’d just been alone, crying, for more than six hours in the sun — and animals are feeling beings, yo!

There I go comparing goat emotions to human emotions.

But this is what we do, is it not?

It’s no wonder the little guy didn’t take to drinking from a bottle. Unlike Lucky B, who maybe only experienced nursing with his goat mom once, directly after birth, FeFiFo had definitely had more opportunities. 

And, I believe, more memories.

Soon, that Fi also stood for Defiant, as he defied me at what felt like every turn. 

Way to make it personal, Jill!

Yes, I talk to myself and this was a slip back into WTF Land. Thankfully, one I caught and nixed, fast. 

But still, in complete transparency, that’s how he got his name. Me judging him.

As I already mentioned above, the Fo came from my sense of mad-humor to be frank… thinking he was Forward thinking, to fly out a window after me. He was actually aware, looking around and considering options. 

Ah, smart! So yes, while funny, there was truth to that Forward Thinking judgement.

I often caught myself saying things to him like For Real, Dude? each time he refused the bottle.

And Fo’ Sure (with a head nod moment from Snoop Doggy Dog, of course) as that too became a staple of my one-sided banter with the painful brother.

During the course of the first week, FeFiFo literally lived on a syringe of milk here and there and me struggling to get him to take milk from his mouth, not while chewing the nipple to the side.

It was a constant battle of wills. His and mine, as Lucky B downed his milk at rapid speed and packed on the pounds.

Was it perfect? No.

Did he suck the “right” way? No.

Did it matter? No. 

Now I’d like to say this is the happy ending to the nipple-chewing, non-sucking story of FeFiFo, but it’s not. 

Not by a long shot.

At one point his tale got worse. A tummy full of trapped air, milk and greens and the local vet pumping his stomach while I held him.

So. Not. Cool. 

Gag reflex, suffering, holding an animal down. I don’t know who suffered more. Him or me. 

All this to say, FeFiFo has not been ‘easy’.

And I was told, if he hasn’t figured it out now, he won’t. 

And I listened. 

All this as Lucky B grew bigger and stronger than FeFiFo, the older one by at least a few days. 

At first Lucky B was my jam, the baby, and FeFiFo, by choice at first, was the outsider.

And then things switched.

Lucky B started to investigate away from me more but was still at ground level, not yet able to jump like FeFiFo did with ease. But I judged Lucky B for not jumping up in my lap.

[Sigh and a dash of grace here. Grace and forgiveness for myself as I write these words of truth in the hopes they impact you too.]

All this happened as I focused more on FeFiFo out of necessity and thought Lucky B, an infant goat, had become more independent, not wanting snuggle time with me, as he didn’t jump up on my lap like FeFiFo.

(insert palm smacking forehead)

Oh hell, I somehow missed the memo baby goat. 

And not all goats are created equal, gasp, much like people. 

I mean FeFiFo went out a window after me, so surely if Lucky B wanted love he’d jump up on my lap like FeFiFo now at every opportunity.

[Head.Meet.Table.Hard. With a very loud and painful thud.]

Sometimes…

Sometimes I question the need for all that education, all those degrees because truly, it’s the little things that matter.

The most important things, never taught but so needed, desired and sought out desperately as we age which are those bits of gold… 
…that make life work, 
…make us special, 
…allow all to flow. 

FeFiFo needed me. So my attitude shifted in how I viewed him. Suddenly he wasn’t so aloof.

Suddenly, I was busy focusing on FeFiFo’s lack of eating, so I wasn’t bending down to scoop up Lucky B at every opportunity I could for a quick or long snuggle.

Suddenly, FeFiFo became a clinger and when I sat, he jumped and sat too. Right on me.

Suddenly, Lucky B took a backseat and instead of seeing it, acknowledging it, I blamed him for it.

I called him independent. I felt that I was no longer needed… so I emotionally cut a few ties… 
To protect myself. 
From what? 
From attachment. 
From the plan of him pulling away… 
From feeling, period.

Over the last 6 weeks today, I have watched myself judge first one baby and then the other. 

I have seen the stories I have told about each. 

I have sunk into my favoritism of first one…Lucky B over FeFiFo…

Come on now, it happens with human babies too and it’s okay. We simply think it’s not, sweep it under the proverbial rug and pretend it doesn’t exist. But it does and I’m not afraid to be human and say it.

...And then favoritism of the other. FeFiFo.

My favoritism fluctuated around feeling needed. 

I have seen my desire to be needed, wanted met first by Lucky B and then by FeFiFo, out of necessity…

I have acknowledged the limitations, the stories, the interpretations, the crap... I put on each of the two little goats and how it played out in their growth, their behavior and their development. 

And how it played out for me...

I have experienced just how much I wanted to control it all…

From how FeFiFo nursed to my schedule, which let me tell you, got jacked-up since the ‘twins’ arrival. 

Moms, I feel you. Dads, you too.

And to think I could have done this judgey thing, control thing with a human kid… cue a moment of guilting thinking over what doesn’t even exist! 

And yep, STOP IT, JILL! rings loud and clear in my brain just seconds after those ‘what if’ thoughts… thoughts that used to sap my energy and now just land like a nat to be laughed at and swatted away.

[Deep breath in and letting that sh*t go…]

What I had to look at is this… 

What if the point of life, now more than ever, is coming to terms with the realization, not the fact, that I control nothing?

Control is but an illusion. 

And one that keeps us trapped in limited thinking. 
Limited doing behaviors. 
And robs us from being who we can step up and be. 

The idea of control robs of us JOY.

The belief that we control anything steals precious moments from us where we could be but aren’t living in the moment.

Control is really a disguise for not wanting to feel the feels. 

Like impatience. 
Like grief. 
Like anger.
Like sorrow.
Like fear. 

I was super impatient with FeFiFo, although 1000x better than I was two years ago with Moo Baah. But my impatience and control played out in there being a right way and a wrong way.

And if he’d just get it right, we could get this show on the road, he’d eat, be okay and we’d move on to other things.

If he’d do it right, I wouldn’t have to worry about him. I wouldn’t have to feel that emotion and then practice allowing it to drain from my body because I do now know it doesn’t serve me.

But in the moment, when you have a sick baby or one who’s not eating, it’s more difficult to just breath that sh*t away!

Yet, possible as all is choice.

There was a bit of grief here that felt selfish, if I sank into it. The loss of my time, my clean home, my way of life which, before the twins, was my way, period. 

Plus, that grief is compounded by a ton of other sh*t right now.

Like how life, on a global scale, has changed, shifted, scattered. For some even shattered - seemingly. And it’s okay to grief things like lost trips, no hugs, not being able to move as freely about in the day as we once did, or for some, such as I, at all.

The anger, yes, it was there, too. Anger over the loss of what was and my inability to control every-little-thing and get FeFiFo to eat, damn it.

See, anger. 

There was also sorrow for the fact that FeFiFo lost his goat mom and Lucky B was abandoned by a Teen Goat Mom. 

The empath in me recognized that and celebrated that I felt it, released it and didn’t spin it into a story of despair to dine on endlessly and share with all, as I would have in the past.

I would have believed that thinking that way made me such a feeling, caring, giving person, better than others, in fact. 

[Oh yes, meet my ego. More deflated now than she was. But still, she lingers.] 

In reality, that old way of being and thinking never built me up. In the short term it made me feel important and special on some level. 

Yet in reality, it was leaking my energy for no reason at all. It was depleting me to the point I was unable to even take care of myself let alone others… 

And here I was someone who wanted to save the world…
Who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders…
Celebrate me. 

Thankfully, that me, is version 1.0 and no longer one a way of being that I tolerate.

Fear.

Fear was something I used to live in and was as comfortable as a favorite hoodie or sweater. Thankfully, it’s no longer snuggable to me, but it did creep up. 

A baby goat can’t go without milk for long...what if..?
Sudden bloating, pain...
Did I seriously rescue this little dude just to watch him die..? 

To fail…

Which brought up my old stories, just for a quick second, of being a failure.

Ah, yeah, that ship has sailed and been sunk in the deepest waters of an ocean in a galaxy far-far away. 

Seriously.

But the mind, the mind is a tricky thing that tried, many times, to take me down a rabbit hole, but thankfully... 

Thankfully, I have grown and saw my slips and dips for what they were. 

Momentary blips into fear and I choose peace. 
Momentary lapses in wanting to control and I choose to allow instead. 
Momentary hiccups into judgement and I choose to acknowledge and simply be.

Be in what is. 

And when I did this. 

Answers came. 

When I did this, FeFiFo took to the bottle, for me, his way.

When I did this, suddenly, FeFiFo, in week 6, yo, started to suck down his milk, full on from the front of his tiny snout — is it a snout?

All because I stopped listening to the well-meaning advice of others. Even the professionals. And sat quietly with him and with myself.

And when an intuitive hit came (again) to go find the spare bottle and nipple I had for Lucky B, a different brand, model and make, I listened.

And when I considered (again) opening up the hole, just a bit, I didn’t think naah again and dismiss the guidance. I listened.

I stretched the hole and tried.

Nothing.

I snipped the hole just a bit, widening it enough so I could see without glasses that it was different from Lucky B’s untouched nipple…

I was down to two. One for each goat.

[Quick reminder. There’s no Walmart down the street on my little 5-square mile island and we’re currently on lockdown. So nothing but food and medical deliveries for the next two weeks. Meaning, I can’t leave my yard, so finding another nipple — not-gonna-happen.]

I chose to lean in — all in — and trust. No saving that second Lucky B nipple for a what if, rainy-day scenario.

I took scissors to it and followed my gut.

And tried again.

And FeFiFo sucked. Naturally. Instinctually. Learning within just 24-hours how to down the bottle as fast as Lucky B who’d had 6 weeks to turn pro.

I learned everything is energy, well, this proved it once again.

All I had to do was shift my energy…and everything else adjusted.

Because it had to. All is energy.

Sinking into BEING had even more rewards…

When I did this, Lucky B suddenly was no longer an ‘independent’ infant but my snuggler. I simply had to lean down and pick him up until he learned to jump… 

Ah, is the Universe having a laugh at my expense now. This sucker is a jumper! Fo’ Real. 

When I did this, Moo Baah stopped pacing the property with loud, concerned Baah-ing and curled up on the kitchen step like my personal Sentinel. 

Night and day Moo Baah laid guard on the doorstep, when not leaving for his three-hour meals in the field a few times a day.

When I did this the tension flowed from my body, tension I didn’t even recognize was there… 

It’s hard to see the water when you’re drowning in it, is it not? 

When I took a beat... 

When I leaned in and stopped pushing on the pull door of life,
I found my center… 

JOY.

And I started to enJOY each moment… even the ones with spilled milk from sideways-nipple-sucking to a baby-goat-face in my coffee to having green hair from someone chewing on it while re-chewing their own curd at the same time. 

Because really, life is about the moments.

And these moments, each of them, are truly precious. 

💜