It was supposed to be a quick drive to pick up feed from the co-op—nothing out of the ordinary. But then I saw them.
Two tiny baby goats. Alone. Just standing at the edge of the ditch like they were waiting for someone who’d left and wasn’t coming back.
I pulled over, heart racing. I mean, who abandons baby goats out here? No tags, no mama in sight, and they were shivering. One of them—the brown one—walked right up to me like he knew I was his last shot.
I wrapped them in the flannel jacket from my backseat and tucked them into my arms like overgrown puppies. I kept looking around, half-expecting a truck to pull up and someone to yell at me for “stealing their livestock.” But nothing.
When I got them home, I set them down on the porch and gave them some water. They looked at me with wide, trusting eyes, like they knew they were safe, and that feeling—the one of responsibility—settled in my chest. It was a bit overwhelming, but I knew I couldn’t just leave them out there in the cold.
I called my neighbor, Karen, who was an experienced goat farmer. She had always warned me about how much work goats could be, but she also swore by how rewarding they were once you had them settled. I figured I might need her advice.
“Karen, you’re not going to believe this,” I started, already feeling a little foolish.
“What’s up?” she replied, her voice calm, as usual.
“I found two baby goats. I mean, they were just sitting on the side of the road. No sign of anyone around. What should I do?”
She let out a long, exasperated breath. “Oh, honey. Are you sure? You don’t know if they belong to someone?”
“I’m sure. They’re completely alone.”
There was a pause before she spoke again, softer this time. “Well, if they’re abandoned, you’re going to have to act fast. Baby goats need a lot of attention. I can come over tomorrow and help, but in the meantime, do you have any goat milk or at least some kind of formula?”
I glanced over at the two little ones. The brown one, the one that had come right up to me, was already trying to nibble on the side of my boot. The other one, a white and black spotted creature, was trembling slightly, but not as much as before. They didn’t look healthy enough to survive out there on their own for long, and I was suddenly terrified of failing them.
“I don’t have goat milk,” I said, feeling a little panicked. “What do I do?”
“You can’t feed them regular milk. It’ll upset their stomachs. Just wait for me, okay? I’ll bring some stuff tomorrow.” She paused, then added, “Just keep them warm and keep them inside until I get there. They’re probably dehydrated, so offer them some water, but don’t force it.”
I followed her advice. I brought the goats into my kitchen and set them up by the stove with an old blanket. The little brown one seemed to take to the warmth, curling up right against the baseboard heater. The other one, who I had started to call Patches for her spots, was a bit more skittish but eventually settled down next to her sibling.
The next morning, Karen came over with a big bag of goat formula, some bottles, and even a little baby goat collar. I felt a rush of relief at the sight of her. She wasn’t just a neighbor—she was a lifeline when it came to farm animals. She knelt down beside the goats and immediately checked their condition.
“They’re hungry,” she said, gently nudging the bottle towards the brown one, who started sucking eagerly. “Good sign. It’s a good thing you found them when you did. They’re going to need around-the-clock care for the next few weeks until they’re strong enough.”
“Do you think they’ll be okay?” I asked, still unsure.
“Honestly? It’s hard to say. But you’ve done the hardest part by getting them warm and fed. They’ve got a chance.”
I watched as Karen took the bottle and helped the little goats drink. Her calm energy was contagious, and slowly, I began to feel less anxious about my impromptu decision to bring these two into my home. Over the next few days, Karen helped me build a small pen in my backyard. She also brought over some hay, more formula, and a small goat shelter.
The baby goats, whom I now called Mocha and Patches, grew stronger every day. Their personalities started to shine through, too. Mocha was a little troublemaker, always trying to climb onto the porch railing or nibbling on anything in sight. Patches was quieter, more reserved, but still curious about everything.
But as they grew, I started to notice something that started to gnaw at me. It was the way they both seemed to always stay close to me, even in the larger pen I’d built for them. They didn’t want to wander far, and they didn’t seem to have much interest in the other animals on the property. I thought that was strange, but it wasn’t until a few weeks later that things really took a turn.
One afternoon, while I was out in the garden, I saw a truck pull up at the end of my driveway. A man got out, and he was looking around, clearly searching for something—or someone.
My heart skipped a beat. I recognized him. He was the farmer who lived a few miles down the road, the one who often attended the local livestock auctions.
He approached me cautiously, his eyes scanning the yard.
“Hey there,” he called out. “I think you’ve got something that belongs to me.”
My stomach churned, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. “What do you mean?” I finally managed to ask, playing it cool despite the sinking feeling in my chest.
“Those goats,” he said, pointing to the pen where Mocha and Patches were happily munching on hay. “They’re mine. They’ve been missing for days. I’m glad to see they’re alright.”
I stood frozen, feeling a wave of guilt flood over me. “Are you sure?” I asked, my voice shaking.
He nodded, his face softening. “Yeah, they were part of my breeding stock. I guess someone must’ve just dumped them on the side of the road.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I wasn’t sure what had happened to them, but I’ve been looking everywhere.”
I felt a pang of relief mixed with sadness. These goats did belong to someone, but they had been abandoned, no matter how he tried to explain it.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I can take them back, but I’ll compensate you for the care you’ve given them. You’ve done a good job with them.”
I was taken aback by his generosity. The situation felt like it was about to get a lot more complicated, but then he added something unexpected.
“You know, I’ve been thinking. I’ve got a small farm, and I could use some help. If you’re willing to come work with me, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of—good pay, room to grow.”
I paused, surprised by the offer. My head was spinning. This wasn’t just about the goats anymore. It was a lifeline, one that could offer me the stability I had been craving.
I looked over at Mocha and Patches, who were now looking back at me with their big, trusting eyes. The truth was, I had no idea what I was doing when I first found them. I had acted on impulse, but somehow, this moment felt like fate. A chance to change the course of my life.
The karmic twist? Taking in the goats had led me to a new path. It was more than just saving them—it was about finding my place in a world that needed something simple and true.
So, I made the decision to take the farmer up on his offer. The goats were returned to their rightful home, but I stayed in touch, working on his farm, learning the ropes of raising animals and living a life closer to the land.
And though it wasn’t easy, it felt like the right thing to do. Sometimes, we think we’re saving others, but in reality, it’s the other way around.
If you’ve ever felt like taking a chance on something unexpected, remember: sometimes those moments are what lead you to the best rewards in life.
If this story resonated with you, please share it with someone who needs a reminder that taking chances can lead to beautiful, unexpected things.
