You were our granny goat, our founding member, our classmate, our teacher, our consoler, our leader. You provided milk for thousands of taste tests, milking opportunity for thousands.
Andre was milking you one night, sobbing because we had sold Chispita to another farmer. Upon releasing you from the stanchion, you stopped and laid your head on his shoulder. I looked on, in the darkness, as you comforted his young, aching heart before jumping off the milking stand.
You were the herd’s fierce leader, head butting any other goat who thought they might deserve the food you wanted.
You stood between the fleeing herd and danger.
You birthed babies despite long and difficult labor.
You pulled through illnesses.
You were a gentle teacher, allowing thousands of students to milk you.
You worked your way into my heart the day we bought you and you never left it.
I will miss you and I thank you for the joy you brought to our family and to our students.
Who ever thought a goat would embed herself so deeply into my being.
Herbert and Diego attempting to get Lucy to her feet. She had become unable to stand earlier in the day.