Bert and the Goatherd

In an email from my cousin Mike, he spoke about my staying with Bert and giving him support until he died. Indeed, I had a stethoscope to his chest and petted and spoke to him until his last heartbeat. While all in all it was a painless death—pretty much a coma, with a few random neurological movements, but at the last few minutes of his life, he aspirated his vomit and choked. The last few minutes were difficult for me, not because of my intense love for Bert (though he was a great guy!), but because I had compassion for him, and I did not want to see him suffer. As I look back, I am confident that he did not suffer long, and that the Banamine that I gave him shortly before his death greatly reduced any pain he was feeling. I really did not want to be with him and witness that—I really would have rather left and come back when it was all over. However, I owed it to him to stay with him until the end. That is my job as a shepherd (or goatherd).

Most of us have read stories of the shepherds in the Bible, especially the Christmas story. I always thought of the concept as somewhat romantic and magical—out there, leading your sheep around in the blackest night one can imagine, no buildings around so you can see black and sky forever on all four sides. Crisp and cold in the desert. Later I found out that this was incorrect—the least inaccuracy being that sheep don’t probably graze in the middle of the desert! We’ve all heard the analogies of the shepherd and the sheep, how sheep trust their master and can be led anywhere.

A few years ago, I learned that the shepherds lived with their sheep year round. The point of the knowledge was Biblical background, but I learned that they lived with their sheep all of the time, as nomads and couldn’t follow the traditional Jewish customs of cleansing and ritual. For this, they were shunned, and spent their entire lives with their sheep, away from society. (That makes the Christmas story that much more interesting to me, that God would reveal Jesus’ birth to the shepherds—outcasts, unclean folks—before he revealed it to anyone else.)

It wasn’t until after I got the goats that it was illustrated to me how the sheep trust the shepherd and the shepherd knows his or her flock.

The goats have the most complete trust in me. I am the person who—twice a day, every day, rain or shine—brings food. That is paramount in building trust with livestock: Be the food lady! My consistency and calm mannerism (at least in the barn) built that trust. They will follow me wherever I go. I don’t need a fence if I am out with them. Last fall we scoured the pasture looking for 2 fly masks lost in the heat of horseplay, and as I walked around, I was followed by an entourage of three goats (followed by their three kittens), and we trekked around the pasture in single file until we found our masks. It struck me then that I could lead them anywhere, and they would follow. They had amazing confidence in me. Blind trust. If I was leading them, only good could come of it.

Goats are herd animals, so Bert was without his herd when he was in the house for the last few days before his death, and that had to be distressing. They can’t stand to be alone and away from the other goats. The one exception, however, is when they are with me. They don’t mind being away from the herd if I am close by.

So, it was only natural then, that when it came time for Bert to leave this earth, that I would be with him. I felt that as a shepherd, the least I could do is to comfort him before his death, so that he wouldn’t be afraid to leave this earth. After all, if the food lady leads you somewhere, it has to be okay, right?