Area woman swoons over her fainting goats

Like Victorian ladies swooning over some breech of social etiquette, the goats in Cheryl Sellin's corral seem to faint away, falling on their side and backs.

It lasts only a second, then the fainting goats bounce back on their feet and go about their goatly business - climbing boulders, chewing on clothing and flowers, begging for Honeycomb cereal treats, urinating on themselves to attract mates.

The technical name for these unusual fainting animals is myotonic goats, explains Sellin of Spiritwood Ranch near Black Forest. They are also called Tennessee wooden legs, nervous goats, falldown goats, scare goats.

The goats don't actually faint. They are wide awake when they fall. They have a congenital condition called myotonia congenita, caused by a combination of recessive genes that makes their muscles tense up when they are startled. They are not in pain; some explain it as a full-body charley horse. Their hindquarters contract and then slowly release. In some myotonic goats it rarely happens, but in others it is common. Other animals, including some horses, cats, and dog breeds such as Great Danes, Labrador retrievers and cattle dogs sometimes exhibit myotonia, according to hobbyfarms.com.

The sign on Sellin's corral says "Fainting Goat Crossing. Expect Delays."

But on two recent days, her 60 goats romped around the corral and yard for hours with nary a swoon. Other times, they'll keel over if startled by the barn cats, wild animals, strangers, unusual sounds.

This breed was first noted in Tennessee in the 1880s, and there are now about 6,000 goats registered with the Myotonic Goat Registry, says Gene McNutt, who created the registry. He estimates there are about 20,000 of the animals in the U.S. and Canada.

They are coveted by hobby farmers who breed them mostly for pets and to participate in livestock shows.

"They are becoming very popular. In five years, we've gone from having one show a year to 18 a year," says McNutt, a goat rancher in Tennessee.

Sellin has a dining room filled with ribbons and trophies her goats have won in shows.

Goat fanciers are working to protect the animals. In 1988 they were added to the American Livestock Breed Conservancy's priority list as an endangered breed. There are eight Colorado breeders listed on the national Myotonic Goat Registry.

"I love my critters," Sellin says.

She is not kidding.

Her license plate reads "Goatgal." She washes them like dogs in a tub with Suave shampoo. She does all the vaccinations and microchipping.

She drove for 20 hours from Texas to Colorado Springs with six of her goats in the back seat of her minivan about three years ago when she was getting her herd started.

She put down a bed of hay for them on a tarp, but still, "It was a little smelly." She named the six after autos - Avalon, Sonata, Solara, Mercedes, Lexus, Porsche.

Sellin says that she and other breeders want the breed saved because of its many fine qualities. Myotonic goats are especially sweet tempered, curious, rugged, parasite resistant, and much quieter than other goats. They don't challenge fences, aren't very enthusiastic climbers, breed year-round and have kids easily - often twins or triplets. Some raise them for meat, and for milk, though they don't lactate as long as other goats.

Among Sellin's herd is a variety called silky miniatures that have longish, wavy hair. She has 14 males, which is more than she needs for her breeding program. Many goat ranchers regularly cull their bucks by sending them to a slaughterhouse, but not Sellin. "I'd never do that," she says. She doesn't raise them for meat.

A Colorado native, Sellin got her love of animals from an aunt, who bought her a horse when she was a young girl. Her husband, Bill, who is an engineering contractor, spent much of his youth on his grandparents' Nebraska farm.

They bought their 60-acre ranch 11 years ago. It has stunning panoramic views of the high plains, Black Forest and Pikes Peak. They built a barn, put up 9,000 feet of three-rail fencing, and dug a large stock pond by themselves. They recently added two heated goat sheds, one for does and one for bucks. The ranch is also home to two horses, three miniature horses, three llamas, three miniature donkeys, cats and three dogs.

She learned about the goats on the Web, and three years ago bought her first three from a farmer in Iowa. When she retired from a digital-imaging company 1 1/2 years ago, Sellin began acquiring more of them.

They eat grains and hay, and an occasional front-yard flower. But they aren't big weed eaters, as some goats are.

With her husband working in Iraq, she rides herd on her goats as well as all the other ranch work. She has lost 50 pounds because of all the physical activity. She's up at 5 a.m. feeding the animals and cleaning the barn, and repeats it all again in the evening.

She learned to run the backhoe so she can plough the roads for the neighborhood this winter. (Last year, there were 15-foot drifts on one side of her house.)

"People out here often have big plans, but move away after a couple of years," she says. "They can't take the wind, hail, dust, dirt, rain, the hard work."

But, for her, it is all a labor of love.

Especially the fainting goats.

"They are just like potato chips. You can't have just one," Sellin says.

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ContaCt the writer: 636-0371 or

carol.mcgraw@gazette.com