Bone, Bone on the Range

Remember those goats we saw during our previous trip to my son's home Fremont? Here's a picture to refresh your memory:

Well, they were nowhere to be seen on our last trip. No green grass for them to munch on in the glen. Everything was brown and dry, with lots of dirt patches, kind of like being in the Dust Bowl of the '30s.

The whole valley was brown, because of the extended California drought:

I did see one goat. Well, not an entire goat – just a skeleton. The skeleton was pretty much stripped clean.

Which led me to wonder: How did it die? It couldn't have died of thirst, could it? Did a coyote get it? Did it die when the grass was tall enough to hide it? Did vultures strip the bones of all the flesh?

And how about the herders? Didn't they notice that one of their goats was missing? Didn't they see the vultures? Didn't the herding dog alert them? (And on a weird note, did the herding dog munch on the goat meat?)

So many questions … so few answers.