Several of our goats are pregnant and due this month. Last night, in preparation for the births, I cut up some old sheets into rags. This morning, I got up bright and early, carried the rags to the barn, fed the guard dog and the barn cats, then started to put hay in the various stalls. In the first stall, I discovered two dead baby goats. I checked the goats milling around outside the stall and saw that Marla was the mother. After I cleaned up the stall, I went to put hay in the other stalls; that's when I found the third baby, still in the birth sack. Marla must have gone into labor in the middle of the night and, for some reason, couldn't care for the babies. I don't know if they were too weak to survive or if the cold got to them. Unfortunately, this is part of farm life - some animals make it, and some don't. But it doesn't make me feel any better.