Gwen is probably my favorite of the fainting goat does we have. When she came to us in late 2008, she was a leader with a contrary streak--contrary enough to have her named for her former owner's unpleasant sister-in-law. I did not find her unpleasant, just strong-minded and sure of herself and named her for a dear friend and former colleague who can appear to have a prickly exterior until one gets to know her. When she arrived, Gwen did not trust me. Humans served a purpose--to deliver food--but were otherwise to be avoided. [Photo to left is of Gwen with her 2010 kid, Mary, in March; below is Gwen grazing last summer; the shot in the woods is from this morning, showing the contrast between our cleared woods and the full understory across the fence line; and the gray kid below is Raymond at the end of his life.]
When that February rolled around, complete with icy temperatures, Gwen delivered a precious buckling--Raymond--and became the first to turn our laundry room into a maternity suite. By the end of her stay, she had decided that I was an acceptable human. After all, she'd been inside for a few days and found that I responded to her every concern and usually did so with unusually tasty treats or soothing neck rubs. She learned that if I offered a tidbit, even if it seemed to be an unusual food, it behooved her to try it--because she was almost sure to like it. Applesauce, raisins, fruit chunks, hot oatmeal with nuts and a bit of molasses or honey, all were worth her serious consideration.
By the time she returned to the herd, I had a friend. Gwen was no longer just a herd leader, she was our herd queen and the liaison between the fainting goat herd and me--the human who served them. When I called the herd back to the barn for dinner, Gwen would often lead the way. Now, when the goat herd greets me, Gwen will hang close to get attention. She isn't pushy anymore. She knows that she is special and will get some extra care if she just stays close. True, Marcie--our dairy queen--gets the most attention these days, but Gwen seems to know that she's still queen of the fainters.
Last night I did not get home to the goats until dusk. We've been experiencing some miserably humid and hot days, with heat index in the triple digits and often the air temperature as well. By the time I was about done with chores, I realized that I had not seen Gwen anywhere. I called for her but did not get an answering holler--as I might have had she been somehow stuck and within earshot.
This morning I headed out to comb the woods and was quickly accompanied by much of the herd. As a group, they have done a bang-up job of clearing out the understory. Sure, it's still filled with stems and little, denuded saplings, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time before it'll be clear, I am sure. We had a pleasant stroll, but saw neither hide nor hair of Miss Gwen. And her kid, Mary, did not seem distressed in the least. At first I didn't see Biscuit, one of our LGDs and wondered if he might not be with Gwen, but I saw no place where Gwen could have wriggled through the fence (and if she had, she would have been leading a good portion of the herd). Then, when Biscuit joined our group, he showed no evidence of having been feasting on fresh meat.
So, I'm stumped. Perhaps she came out yesterday when Caitlyn shot through the gate, but I did not see that happen. Plus, if she were down front here, she would have responded when I called for her. Maybe she was "just old," and found a quiet spot to die, but she had not been wasting away or acting frail in any way that I noticed. She's been quiet and patient, unlike her assertive "gimme-the-grain" persona that appears sometimes, but I did not think she was ill.
The herd is due to be wormed. Not only has it been some months since I last wormed any of them, but some show the paleness in the gums and beneath eyelids that FAMANCHA uses as a gauge of parasitic overload. Later I'll do that and comb the interior of the woods more closely. With the understory denuded, though, opportunities for a large gray-colored goat to disappear are limited.
Please, Gwen, be all right. I like seeing you each day and I'm missing you now.
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