Nothing christens spring like the soft, fragile face of a new living being. Just as the short-lived explosion of a chartreuse landscape kisses our wakening eyes, so do the young of our farms, bursting with their cottony fuzz, wide marble eyes and cries for milk, kiss our welcoming hearts.
These babies are born into a community of one. One flock. One herd. One gaggle. They lie among and upon each other, sharing warmth. They feed together from the same big trough, or work the same bulging udder. Moms are never far away and will continue to keep a watchful eye on you. Every little being should be as fortunate.