#newborn goat

[angoragoats]

[wandering-wolf23]

TW: birth, medical, blood, animal injury

That was a heart attack wrapped in panic and also why I check the goats approximately 900 times a day.

This little guy is, tentatively, Sir Ramsbottom. He was both breech birth and stuck and the reason why I am so upset right now. True breech - butt first, legs folded under - is very bad for all involved and also pretty rare. He had to be pulled because it was far too late for him to be turned (he was partially out). Cue me being talked through it by a very patient vet tech. Sir was unresponsive when I got him out, but revived pretty quickly.

As of right now, I think his mom (Nyra) is both done and doing ok. She’s had her shots, vet is coming out as soon as he can get here, and Sir is screaming his head off because how dare I make him breathe air.

[tchaikovskym]

This is one of the funniest pics on my phone.

Lung

[occultof-frog]

this is my first time being around for the birthing and newborn stages of goats and it has been an incredibly difficult and sad experience this time around. The birth was traumatic (unsure why), the mama isn't doing well and 2 of the kids died. The last one was doing great and today she took a complete nosedive and we're at a complete loss. Despite bottle feeding and giving nutrients and shots and keeping them warm, she might die too. 4 dead goats in just a few days and we have no idea wtf happened

[mysticdragon3md3]

Baby Seals Christmas at Pelican Point - Happy Holidays from the OCN team! by Ocean Conservation Namibia

[inconveniently-discorporated]

I started listening to Radio Omens this morning on my commute. A couple thoughts:

1. Officers Neil and Terry made me tear up a little thinking of how much fun it must be to participate in bringing your best friend project to life.

2. I keep picturing Crowley as this:

[priestess-of-the-north-west]

Photo by Matt Ketchum on Unsplash  

[farmergilesofham]

Souls games are great because you'll have some guy named like Roderick the Vast and he can turn people inside out with his space dust laser beams

and then the fan favourite character is Glorbus, who's just some guy. his powers are cooking a mean stew and selling one useful item. he has the most poignant and meaningful story arc in the whole game. you get nothing for killing him, except the guilt. he's featured in every inspirational edit of the game. finding him requires skipping 3 bosses and sacrificing a newborn goat in an abandoned tavern. his stew heals wounds. he is the best.

[cdragons]

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Prologue

Next chapter

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Future NSFW, Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), Childbirth, Future Sexism & Misogyny (this is Westeros), Political Struggles, Future Deaths, Dark Themes, etc. etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom!

Author's Note: WHO ELSE SCREAMED AT THE HOTD SEASON 2 TEASER TRAILER????? The costumes, the cinematography, the set design, FUCKING BAELA ON MOONDANCER???? But this idea was something that had been on my mind for a while, and I am really excited to share it with all of you! Shoutout to @valeskafics whose works served as a HUGE inspiration to this idea! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.

“PUSH!” yelled the midwife to the soon-to-be mother. “Lady Doreah, I can almost see the head!”

“Almost?” the poor woman cried out; her body had grown weary after experiencing a day’s worth of labour. Her hair clung to the sweat on her brow as the rest of her skin was soaked in perspiration from the pain. She cried out in agony as a gentle kiss from above attempted to soothe her from the torment that came with bringing new life into the world. Normally she would preen at such affection, but considering the circumstances she was in, she was in no mood for soft affections. “Ao nādrēsy! You did this to me!”

“Yes, my love,” agreed the man beside her. Unlike most husbands, Hotho Pyke refused to not remain by his beloved wife’s side during the birth of their child. He wanted to welcome the product of their love into the world with open arms. He was desperate to hold this new tiny babe in his arms as his fingers would trace over the features given to them by both their mother and father.

“You speak true my darling; I am a bastard. But if memory serves me right, it was my bastard birth that finally made you look my way after months of me begging for your attention. Well, that and a bit of my bastard tongue.” He tried to hide the wince that almost spilled from his lips at the furious grip on his hands in response of his wife. Even at the worst times, the man would never stop in his attempts to make her laugh. It was a most excellent quality in a husband in any other time but now.

“Gods help me Hotho – if this child does not come out of me soon, I will take my shears and cut out that bastard tongue of yours myself!” Doreah let out another scream as she continued to push her child out – although the pain was intense, the longing to hear the newest member of their family was greater than anything else she had felt in her lifetime.

“The baby is crowning!” exclaimed the midwife, who stood forgotten by the couple. “You are so close my lady, a few more pushes and you and your husband can welcome the newborn!”

This news filled Doreah with a newfound determination. Using every bit of her strength, she grasped her Hotho for support as she let out a furious yell as her body clenched to push out the newborn.

And after what seemed to both a lifetime and no time at all, powerful and shrill cries filled out every corner of the room. Not bothering to lean back against the pillows to rest, Doreah reached forward and demanded to hold her baby. She didn’t even care if you were a son or a daughter- you could have been a goat for all she cared. All she wanted to was to hold whomever had been growing inside her for the past nine months. She wanted to breathe in the scent of their skin and kiss their tiny faces. She wanted to love her child- her new world and her greatest love. Son, daughter, goat- Doreah knew that this child would forever be perfect in her eyes.

And perfect this child was indeed, and perfection suited their daughter.

Ten toes and ten fingers covered in blood, and kicking as hard an airborne goat, Doreah and Hotho wept as loudy as their newborn girl. It was only when the midwife insisted that she have the baby cleaned and wrapped in blankets were the two able to part with her. When you were returned to your mother’s arms, all felt right with the world as they continued to weep at the sight of the newest member of their small and strange family.

“Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala,” whispered Doreah with tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up to gaze at her husband. “Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!”

“I see her my coral,” whispered out her husband, whose face was soaked in tears in response to the overwhelming joy flowing within him. “Our pearl is beautiful. But most importantly, she is healthy and she is loved.”

He traced a finger across his daughter’s delicate features. Although you were currently sleeping, he knew that your eyes would take after hers, and he was ecstatic. There was a time when he believed that he would never love anything or anyone more than he loved the sea, only now there were two women in his life whom his love was consumed by entirely.

As the world slipped away into the background, the love from the new parents was so great it formed an almost impenetrable barrier surrounding them. But all peaceful things reach an end and theirs came from the knocking of a serving girl.

“My Lord and Lady…Pyke,” came a new voice, clearly disgusted by the act of referring a bastard as a lord, “if the Lady is presentable, the Queen Alicent would like to come in to see the child.”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Doreah. “Please let her in! I would be most honored to have Alicent meet my sweet pearl!”

“My brightest coral, are you sure? You just went through birth. Queen or not, shouldn’t you recover before she asks your attention?”

Hotho Pyke was an impoverished bastard born from the Iron Islands. He knew how to predict wind patterns and navigate with the stars before he could write. His skills as a seafarer were so great that he caught the attention of Lord Corlys of House Velaryon who sat on the Driftwood Throne. But however impressive his skills were with a sail, there was still much to be desired with his knowledge of etiquette appropriate for the Royal Court of the Red Keep in the Crownlands. His raised brow and confused tone suggested that he believed his question to be one borne of common sense despite the horrified expressions on everyone else’s faces save for his wife.

“Hotho, ñuha jorrāelagon,” Doreah tiredly chuckled as she shook her head, “there is still so much for you to learn about the Red Keep. Please Jeyne, let the Queen enter. I want her to meet our pearl!”

Almost immediately, a heavily pregnant figure in resplendent green and gold came dashing into the room in hopes to be the first to reach the bedridden woman and greet the child.

“Doreah!” exclaimed out the queen, relieved that her dearest friend had survived the trials of birth with the result of a healthy child. “Let me see you! How are you? Are you sure you are well? Do you need anything for the pain?”

Doreah couldn’t help but laugh at the onslaught of questioning from her fretful childhood friend. Since they were still just young girls, Alicent Targaryen nee Hightower always worried about the seamstress’ health and wellbeing despite being a few years younger. She fondly looked back on the days when she and her would peacefully discuss about their days as they worked on their embroidery or took lessons from the Head Septa. Handing their daughter to her husband to hold, she reached out to her friend in attempt to soothe her worries.

“Alicent, I am fine. Truly, there is no need to fret so much.” Doreah reassured her friend before looking back to the love of her life. “Besides, I was never in any danger. Not with my brave Iron Knight by my side the entire time.”

Still holding their radiant babe, Hotho Pyke beamed at his wife’s tender words before laying kisses on her hands, her fingers, the top of her hairline, before eventually stopping at her lips.

Alicent, however, was less than pleased at the shameless display of affection shared between the couple.

“Ser Pyke,” – she refused to refer a bastard of all things as a lord – “surely you know that men are not permitted in the birthing room during the delivery. I thought that this was made clear to you when you first learned of your wife’s pregnancy.”

Not recognizing the insult in being referred as “Ser” as opposed to “Lord,” Hotho only took the queen’s words as a sign of worry for her favored companion.

“My mother would rise from her watery grave to string me by my feet and call me a cunt if she knew that I left my wife alone in bringing our child into the world. Besides, had I not been in the room, she would have let her vicious tongue loose on another unfortunate soul.”

“In any case, are you sure you should not be resting? You are carrying the King’s child, surely that takes priority over seeing me.” Doreah knew that this pregnancy had been particularly difficult for Alicent, recalling the many times she walked in on her kneeling before her chamber pots in emptying out the contents of her stomach.

“Nonsense,” replied Alicent, who shook her head at the statement, “there is no one more important to me at this moment than you, sweet Doreah. I just hope that your husband’s brash tongue does not influence such a young innocent.”

“Ah, no worries my Queen. The brashness of my tongue is no match for that of my wife. She proved that many a time in our quarters.”

The Iron Island-born bastard was promptly cut off by a swift slap on the arm from his wife.

Before Alicent could respond to such vulgarity, she was interrupted by the presence of another figure dressed in a gorgeous red and black dress patterned with masterful gold embroidery.

“Rhaenyra!” Doreah exclaimed in excitement, happy to have not one but two of her closest friends greet her daughter. “You did not have to come! Are you sure you are not currently preoccupied with your duties?”

“Oh, please,” the princess uttered, “what could possibly be more important at this moment than to greet the firstborn of Laenor and I’s closest friends?”

Walking over to Hotho’s side, Rhaenyra was entranced by the sight of the newly arrived babe. She could already see how you would grow to be the spitting image of your mother.

“May I hold her?” she asked with arms already reaching toward your father.

Looking back to his wife to make sure she approved of it, he carefully handed you to Rhaenyra – but not before he laid a dozen kisses on your face.

“Oh Doreah,” Rhaenyra softly cooed, “she is absolutely perfect. I can tell that she will grow up to be as kind and beautiful as her mother.”

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” tears filled your mother’s eyes at her friend’s kind words, “kirimvose.” She turned to Alicent, who was currently sitting beside the bed in a chair brought to her to ease the stress on her body from her third pregnancy. Your mother reached one arm to each of her friends as a way to show solidarity. “Thank you to the both of you. I would not be where I am now – so happy and full of love – without the both of you here to guide me through the Red Keep. I owe you two everything. I only hope that our children can remain as friends so that they will never know loneliness.”

If your mother knew of the cruel fate she thrust onto you with that wish, she would have given everything to the gods in hopes to free you.

Your father took you back into his arms before handing you once more to your mother. Although you had woken from your slumber, you made no noise. You only gazed at the figures surrounding you with wide and eager eyes. Ever so slightly, you reached out your hand to paw at the green fabric of the queen.

So young, and you already seemed to recognize the beauty in the custom-made garment.

Alicent laughed in a way that was so genuine that it seemed unfamiliar, fascinated by the fervent grabbing of her dress on your end.

“It seems that this little one will be a seamstress as well,” she stated as she reached forward to let you pull and tug at her sleeve in enraptured delight, “I can only imagine what talent she will possess.”

“What will you name her?” Rhaenyra asked, hoping that you will be blessed with a name with Valyrian roots.

But a shared glance between your parents showed that they had already decided a name for you far before this day.

“Ashirri, Ashirri Pyke” your mother confidently stated, “in honor of both our cultures.”

Your father grasped his wife’s shoulder in agreement. “We will never let our child feel she must restrict herself to one background. As her parents, we want to let her know that her world will be one of endless possibilities.”

On this day, Doreah Pyke gave birth to a child for her and her husband to raise. This child will be raised with so much love that it will not matter that you were born from two bastard parents, one from Essos and the other from the Iron Islands. No, you were born as a result of the love from two people from opposite sides of the world who miraculously found one another, and that was all that would matter in the end. Doreah would teach you an art that could only be made through masterfully crafted embroidery and needlework, while Hotho will teach you how to use the stars to navigate waters and open their horizons to an endless sea of possibilities.

And if you did not wish to become either a seamstress or a sailor, it made no difference to them. Westeros, Essos, the Red Keep, the Iron Islands – the world was your oyster, and you were the miraculous pearl.

Their child will not be like the close-minded fools of their homelands, but someone whose mind will be open to new opportunities and will never stop seeing the joy in discovering the unknown. And they would always be there to help guide you in any way the could. Nothing would ever come between the love your parents held for you.

If only the gods could allow for such happiness to last forever.

But dragons have a tendency to burn rather than create, especially ones with sapphire for eyes and strong blood in their veins.

Translations:

"Ao nādrēsy!" - You Bastard!

"Ziry's kesīr, īlva tala... Gaomagon ao ūndegon zirȳla, ñuha jorrāelagon? Jurnegon rȳ zirȳla! Iksis ziry daor se olvie precious riña emā mirre ūndegīon!" - She's here, our daughter. Do you see her, my love? Look at her! Is she not the most precious child you have ever seen?

"ñuha jorrāelagon" - my love

kirimvose - Thank you

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @aphroditesmoon, @nighttwingg, @marvelescvpe, @nellychick, @its-actually-minicika, @biancaweasley

[circuscountdowns]

Hello I have too many thoughts on sheep/goat traditions for this damn game so I thought this one might interest you: Yearly sheep Tradition of shearing. Come the spring thaw and the 'lambing' season, families sit down together and trim their wool as a sort of bonding ritual. None of it goes to waste! For families expecting new lil lambies, the wool is spun and made into clothing. for families content as they are, it is spun into yarn and made into fiber crafts like blankets and toys. Cuz now I cant unsee your lamb using their wool for yarn and turning said yarn into a cat toy for nari. like a little mouse with button eyes and a long winding tail (that the twins are totally not allowed to steal get your own u heathens) anywho thats my rambling done -sKITTERS BACK TO MY CAVE-

aw that’s sweet! I do have wool-producing cult ocs, an Angora Rabbit and an Alpaca that Lamb is very very fond of for the companionship in trimming/shearing. Spinning their wool is something they all bond over and provides well for the cult :) doing it for newborns every year is so cute!

Cat toy is such a good idea!!! I can see it too hope you don’t mind me drawing it skdjsksk that’s so cute!

Mouse follower watching lamb make it : 👁️ who’s that for?

[wasyago]

What stage would Doccy be in then with the creeper caterpillar goat stage you made?

i meean idk (and idc) how old doccy is, but we've heard them talk so, probably the third one?

the first stage is basically a newborn, blind and squeaky. the second is a baby that is only learning to walk and grasp the world around them (though i imagine for these species it's faster than for humans; maybe a couple months max). third is your typical kindergartener, active and curious. fourth is something around a pre-teen i think, (skipping the teen bc i forgor 🕺) and fifth is a young adult. sixth one is not really a growth stage, more of a... anomaly? condition? state of being? idk but there are some special requirements that need to be met for a creeper caterpillar goat thing to turn into that. as in, not everyone is like that and most of them age and grow old normally. i think? why am i even thinking this through

[fan-fantasies]

Uhtred’s pretty boys and discovering they have a crying kink:

Warnings: no actual smut but mentions of it, crying (obviously), injury

A/N: couldn’t decide who to write for so I picked my favorite pretty boys 🤷🏻‍♀️ other fics for Eddie and probably Aemond will follow!

Sihtric watched as Finan finished the sling for your arm. He tossed it around your head and gently lifted your arm into it. You couldn’t help but wince, the Irishman apologizing profusely.

You let your arm rest in the sling, letting out a small moan at the relief it finally gave you. A quick tear ran down your cheek and it caught Sihtric’s eye. A few more tears followed as you rested your head back. He followed the tears as they slid down your neck.

He could feel his cock stirring in his breeches- his pants becoming just a bit tighter. The thought of the tears running down your face in a much different context was interesting to him.

He vowed that as soon as your arm was healed, he would take you on every surface until your glistening eyes rolled back in your head from pleasure- tear stained cheeks and swollen lips begging him to have mercy on you.

He wouldn’t, however, not until your legs were shaking and body wracked with sobs. He would mark your entire body, but would kiss away the tears when he was finally done with you.

Finan had always been fond of you- your wit nearly matching his (or outdoing as you would confidently say). You were quite attractive as well and he would flirt with you to no end.

You all sat around the fire one night, exchanging stories and dreams. Uhtred was telling a particularly good story about when he was a child and slipped in the goat pen after he had been living with the Danes. He was so animated he had you laughing harder than Finan had ever seemed; he’s certain the ale was contributing to that because Uhtred was not that funny…

The campfire flames reflected off of your skin, shining streaks of tears now streaming down your face. Finan couldn’t help but stare as you tried your best to wipe them away.

He wanted to grab your hand, to stop you, but he couldn’t tell why. You let out a heavy sigh as more tears cascaded over your smiling cheeks and that’s when he knew. A hunger grew in his belly and he wanted to be the cause of your tears.

He didn’t want to hurt you in any way, but he wanted to make you feel so good that no amount of self control would allow the dam not to burst. He wanted to tease you until you were crying for his cock and only after he was satisfied, would he give it to you.

Sweet, shy Osferth- the poor man thought there was something wrong with him the first time his cock hardened when he noticed a tear drop sliding down your cheek. You were holding a newborn baby and you were overcome with emotion. You sniffled to try to hold back the tears but they came anyway. The rest of the world melted away and he was transfixed by you.

He had sought out the advice of Uhtred, of course, and the older man reassured him he was not sick or twisted. He even recounted his own pleasure at seeing tears streaming down a woman’s face, typically while she was choking on his cock.

While the idea was enticing to Osferth, he often imagined you in another scenario. He often imagined your bodies pressed tightly together as he made love to you. He would bury himself deep inside of you so he could feel every inch of you.

The emotion between the two of you would be so powerful, you would choke back your tears as he fucked into you over and over. He would be sure to spill himself inside of you as a declaration of his love, kissing the tears away with reassuring whispers.

He decided that it may make him a sinner, but it was worth it to see your soft tears beneath him as you both rode out yours highs.

[bonefarm]

Would you guys like to see the most honest newborn goat photo I’ve ever taken?

Of course you would.

[helendamnationx]

The thing about Equal Rites is, it's not just a book about how girls can do anything boys can do, and the only thing trying to stop her is meanie old men. It's about how girls can do anything boys can do, I suppose, if she really must, though I* can't see why she wants to.

It's about shaking off gender essentialism, not deciding who someone can and can't be as soon as you see their newborn baby genitals, and adults not telling kids to be who they "should" be instead of who they really are... while also being really super clear that the traditionally male-dominated path isn't inherently better, it's just better paid.

It explores Granny's position of trying to hold Esk back from becoming a wizard, stemming not from thinking that girls aren't smart enough or that they should only be wives and mothers, but from a contempt for the flashy and self-important ways of wizards and belief that the more domestic and practical sphere of witchcraft is more important and better. It's a pretty accurate depiction of the way some older women enforcing gender roles think.

I suppose the book is more of a critique of the whole women's intuition/men's intelligence nonsense dichotomy, as well as a reminder not to cling too eagerly to the patriarchy's priorities in the search for equality.

Men aren't better at "jommetry" than women. But "jommetry" isn't more difficult or important than Granny Weatherwax's practical, rural skills - herbcraft, midwifery, caring for and understanding goats and bees, managing people, and so on.

Sir Terry never got on with the assembly lines of formal education, which is probably an important thing to bear in mind when reading this book.

*Granny Weatherwax