Little Wendy is getting along just fine. Her temporary pen is sufficient space, and has kept her contained while we become good friends. She likes me quite a bit much now.
Yesterday, Taylor ran inside, breathless, informing me that neighbor Dan had informed him that there was a goat near his house. Taylor thought perhaps Wendy had escaped. “No way,” I told myself. “She likes her new home too much.” We took a look down towards her pen, and lo and behold I was correct!
Could this other goat be merely a phantasm, an apparition, a sheolic messenger sent to taunt me and haunt me with memories of the one I lost?
Or could it be the one. She – her – herself?
Feet shod, we ran to the south.
And there she stood. Brown and black and looking quite healthy, I must say. My little Goat #1.
We slowly approached her, shaking a bucket of feed. Nothing has changed. She moved away, and soon bounded into a ravine.
Taylor, Dan, and I pursued. We did eventually corner her underneath a large fallen branch, but we needed more bodies and hands to ensnare her – she found a way to evade us.
Finally, she fled deep into the woods, and we resigned, but not without renewed hope that my goat might someday be my goat.
Today, Kate and Adrienne saw her again. In the same area. They got a bucket of grain and left it out for her. Later, the bucket was empty.
We’ll keep coaxing her from a distance, training her to love us without her realizing it. Then someday she’ll join little Wendy in domestic farm bliss.
Until then, the chase is on…