Sick Goats and Good Neighbors

This morning started out not so great.

When I went to say good morning to the animals, I immediately noticed something was off with the goat herd. Tilly, our herd queen, is always the first to come running when I bring them a little treat of grain, but today she was absent. Weird.

She’s bossy and pushy and makes sure the other goats don’t get her grain. Normally there’s a whole production. But this morning, the other two goats ate in peace—no shoving, no dirty looks, no drama. That alone told me something was wrong.

Tilly finally appeared from behind the barn and slowly made her way over, barely moving. She’s usually very spunky and energetic—annoyingly so. I could tell right away she was either sick or in pain.

I tried to check the inside of her eyelid (which YouTube makes look way easier than it actually is), and they were extremely pale. Bad. I started to panic—goats can go downhill fast. I gently poked her belly on the rumen side: soft and squishy, a good sign. She wasn’t chewing her cud: bad sign. Checked for limping—none. Not interested in grain, which is basically goat crack to her: VERY bad sign. She didn’t try to chew on my clothes or my body, which is not normal at all.

I knelt down and held her face in my hands, wishing she could just tell me what was wrong. She let me pet her and stroke her beard for as long as I wanted without trying to move or nibble me. That’s when I knew this wasn’t a “wait and see” situation, it was urgent.

I called my husband to warn him that we were about to have some unexpected farm expenses. Then I called the vet.

Getting Tilly to the car was no small task, but I managed to gently lead her on the leash. It took foreverrrrrr but we finally made it. The real problem came when it was time to get her into the Jeep. No amount of pushing, prodding, encouraging, or bribing with grain was going to make that happen. I tried to lift her myself, but I’m not exactly in my prime anymore—and stubborn goats are heavy in the worst possible way.

The clock was ticking. If I didn’t get her loaded now, we were going to miss the appointment.

So I did something that, honestly, doesn’t come naturally to me. I asked for help.

I called some neighbors we don’t know super well. A lovely family just down the road. We share some things in common—Christian faith, homeschooling, and a homestead-ish state of mind—but we’re not the kind of neighbors who borrow sugar or pop in unannounced. I felt awkward. I probably sounded a little unhinged asking if they could send their boys to help me load a goat into my vehicle.

But within minutes, two of their boys were there.

No hesitation. No weirdness. Just help.

The older one scooped Tilly up like she weighed nothing and gently set her in the back of my Jeep. Just like that. And because of that young man—and his willingness to show up when it mattered—I was able to get my beloved goat the medical care she needed. And that’s the part of this story I can’t stop thinking about.

Good neighbors are rare. And also, incredibly undervalued.

We live in a time where everyone prides themselves on independence. We don’t want to bother anyone. We don’t want to need anyone. Many people don’t even know the names of the folks living right next door.

But this morning reminded me that community isn’t built in big dramatic moments. It’s built quietly. In small acts of showing up. In raising kids who are willing to help a panicked woman load a sick goat into a Jeep. In answering the phone. In saying yes.

Good neighbors don’t just make life nicer. Sometimes, they make it possible.

Tomorrow, that family is getting a loaf of freshly baked bacon jalapeño cheddar sourdough. It doesn’t come close to repaying what they gave us—but it comes with a whole lot of gratitude.

And I’m walking away from today reminded that we’re not meant to do this life alone and thanking Jesus for our neighbors. 💛