Growing Girls by Jeanne Marie Laskas Read Free Book Online

the time I ran through the night and into the barn, baby Greg was born; Cleopatra had done all the work. Instinctively, she took on the business of cleaning and nursing—within minutes this goat was a pro. “Congratulations!” I said to her, and closed the barn door to give mother and child a chance to sleep. I thought that was the end of it, and went to bed wondering if there was any sort of message in all of this.
    Three days later, George came barreling up our driveway. This was way before we went into our neighbor-feud. This was back when George was just an everyday part of our lives. “I’ve got something here,” he said, climbing out of his pickup. He was carrying a baby lamb. The tiniest creature, about the size of a kitten. Her nose was pink and her body was covered intight fuzz. George said she was just born a few hours previously. She was one of triplets. Her mother had rejected her, had refused to let her suckle, had kicked her away. He said sheep just do this sometimes. “Maybe you can help?” he said, holding out the orphaned lamb.
    I took her in my arms. She was all skin and bones, a wrinkled angel. I asked George how a person went about rescuing a creature so delicate.
    “I was more thinking your goat could do it,” he said, looking over at Cleopatra. Goats and sheep are genetically similar, he said, and a willing goat can raise a lamb. This was news to me. George said our goat would have more than enough milk for this baby, too. Maybe she would accept her as one of her own. Maybe she wouldn’t. It was worth the try. It was either that or let the lamb die.
    I felt awkward. How do you go about asking a goat to mother a lamb? I placed the lamb next to where baby Greg was nursing. Cleopatra looked, sniffed, looked some more. In an instant she had made up her mind. The lamb took a good long drink and the bond was formed.
    In a way, it was the most natural thing in the world. Here was a creature that needed a mom, and here was a mom with plenty of mothering to give.
    I stood there a long time watching this, filled with pride for my goat and her good deed. At one point Cleopatra looked over at me. It wasn’t an expression of thanks or even a knowing. It was a plain old goat look of “What are you looking at?” A bond is a bond is a bond.
    I remember thinking that if Anna and Sasha ever complain about having gotten me as a mom, I could send them out to talk to that lamb. “Yeah, you think you’ve got it rough,” that lamb could say. “My mom is a goat.”
    We named her Sweet Pea. Within weeks, well before the daffodils came up, she was strong enough to play in the barnyard, tumbling with Greg and accepting Anna’s invitation to wear a hat.
    A lot of Americans adopting from China incorporate some portion of their child’s Chinese name into the new American name, but with Sasha we couldn’t figure out a way to do this, just as we couldn’t with Anna. Anna’s Chinese name is Gu Yu Qian. We tried Anna Gu Levy or Anna Gu Yu Levy and everything sounded ridiculous and apologetic. “Levy” is so Jewish: you throw Chinese into it and the whole thing sounds too eager to please. So with both girls we decided they’d head into life with two names; they’d have their American names and they’d grow up knowing their Chinese names, too. Gu Yu Qian translates to “Pretty Like Jade.” When we went to China to get Anna, I bought a jade bead and a small gold chain and I made a necklace that I never take off. I tried to think of something I could wear around my neck that would say: Lucky Red Equally-Fine-in-External-Accomplishments-and-Internal-Qualities.
    Every day I checked the Yahoo! group for help with this and other matters, including tips on how to make rice congee andwhich stores in Guangzhou had the best deals on baby clothes. Sometimes people would post newspaper articles of interest, and one day this one landed in my in-box:
    The Guardian
—Final Edition
    SECTION:
Guardian Features Pages, pg.