Poor Baby!

We brought home a new goat on Saturday—a five-week-old Snubian we’ve affectionately named Baby Doll. For the uninitiated, a Snubian is a cross between a Saanen and a Nubian. Saanens have neat, pointy, upright ears. Nubians have those glorious, droopy, curtain-like ears. But when you combine the two? You get the goat registry’s official term: airplane ears.

That’s right—straight out from the head, then flopping down just a little at the ends like she’s about to taxi for takeoff. Some folks say it looks a little silly. I say it looks like The Flying Nun in goat form. Combine that with her big baby eyes and wobbly legs, and she’s basically irresistible.

Unfortunately, she’s also accident-prone. Within 24 hours of her grand arrival, she managed to break a leg.

Yep. Less than one day in, and she’s already filing for disability.

On Sunday, Baby Doll decided to take flight off our porch stairs. Not walk down them—no, that’d be too logical. She launched herself off the middle step like she was gunning for Olympic gold. Her ears flared out like wings on final approach, her legs tucked like a tiny skydiver, and then—crunch. Her front leg got caught, the rest of her body kept going, and physics chalked up another win.

Cue one goat shrieking, two humans panicking, and me yelling, “Grab the duct tape!” while simultaneously trying to figure out how to explain to a vet that our new goat tried to fly.

Now, keep in mind this poor kid had already had a rough few days. She’d left her mama, her herd, and her goat friends, only to wind up in a new home with a single goat buddy. She was just settling in, wagging those airplane ears around like radar dishes, when—BAM!—broken leg.

Naturally, she got the royal treatment. Baby Doll was wrapped in blankets, perched on the couch like a wounded princess, and spoiled with pets and cooing. “Daddy” hand-fed her hay while she gazed up at him lovingly with her big eyes, her “Flying Nun” ears tilted just so, milking it like a pro. That night she even slept inside the house, tucked into a dog crate next to my bed. Nothing says “normal” like goat snores in surround sound at 3 a.m.

Monday morning, we packed her up for the vet. I’d already performed a farmyard version of an orthopedic procedure—sock, splint, vet wrap, and motherly panic—and was braced for a lecture.

Instead, the vet looked at my handiwork and said, “Well, that’s actually a pretty good job.”

Pretty good?! That’s basically a standing ovation. Who needs eight years of vet school when you’ve got duct tape, adrenaline, and a goat whose ears double as flight stabilizers?

Baby Doll now has a proper cast that she’ll wear for four weeks. The catch? It absolutely can NOT get wet.

Which is hilarious. Because this is a goat.

A baby goat.

On a farm.

Where water comes from the sky, buckets, hoses, puddles—and possibly the tears of her owner.

So we’re officially in Operation Keep It Dry. This includes plastic grocery bags duct taped over her cast, tarps at the ready, and me sprinting through the yard screaming, “No puddles!” while her airplane ears flap like she’s about to take off. If this keeps up, the FAA is going to want her registered.

And here’s the real kicker: Baby Doll knows she’s got us wrapped around her little broken leg. She limps dramatically when we’re watching, collapses into our laps like a fainting Victorian lady, and flicks those Flying Nun ears for maximum sympathy. She’s gotten hand-fed snacks, extra nap privileges, and more couch time than most house pets. Honestly, I half expect her to demand home baked cookies and her own Netflix profile.

Still, she’s healing. She’s spoiled. And she’s working those airplane ears like they’re her superpower.

Hang in there, Baby Doll. We’ve got you. And apparently, you’ve got us too.

After all—who really needs four good legs when you’ve already got wings?

AAAHH, the life of a "house goat"!

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