Over the weekend we went out to do the milking, and saw two of the baby goats (Huck and Sid) playing rambunctiously together.
“Where’s Tom?” I asked Ethan, who was in the paddock with me.
We walked all around the paddock, which is fairly small, but there was no sign of him.  May suddenly realized she couldn’t find her baby and began to bleat (before that she was lounging around chewing her cud and didn’t care).
“Could he have gotten out and been eaten?” I wondered.  Ethan didn’t think so, but he was not in the paddock that we could see.  The goats began following us around.  May started to kind of freak out a little and was calling loudly now.
Then we heard a tiny little goat bleat from somewhere.  We followed it, but couldn’t tell just where it was coming from.  It seemed to be in the direction of a rusty old green barrel we need to throw away (Ethan: “It’s not trash, it’s a ‘cow toy'”).
Then Tom pokes his little head  out.

Much to our relief and May’s.  Now it’s not trash, it’s a “baby goat shelter.”

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