"Those Are Not Chocolate Jelly Beans," And Other Useful Llama Observations

We came to farm life, Mr. Rogers and I, having collectively owned nothing larger than a medium-sized dog in all our lives. Oh, I'd taken horseback riding lessons as a kid and worked at the riding stable for a summer, and Mr. Rogers was enthusiastic about farm animals, but we had absolutely no practical experience. Therefore, when Mr. A, our landlord, brought home a young male llama, we immediately decided that we should jump right in and become llama herders! Llamas are easy! Yay! Team Llama!

Well. Fortunately for us, and for the two llamas, Ricky and Cassiopeia (Cassie, to her friends and loyal subjects), now under my tender ministrations, we lucked into finding a generous, knowledgeable and experienced husband and wife team with a reputable llama breeding operation to buy Cassie from. They have been an invaluable source of help to us. Books are great, but there's nothing like having a pro to turn to.

Llamas are, in my opinion, easy to fall in love with. They are intelligent and curious, and their bright eyes, complete with lush, sweeping lashes, and expressive, mobile faces will suck you right in. Llamas also tend to be a little aloof in their affections, unless you're carrying food, so when my girl Cassie lets me hug her, greets me nose to nose, or sidles up to me for a back scratch, I feel like Princess Kate just invited me to tea. Llamas are so unique, people just go mad over them, especially children. They quickly become neighborhood celebrities (the llamas, not the children, although I guess both things are possible).

Now that I've extolled the wonders of having a llama in your life, I know that somewhere out there is another llama novice, with a lot of love, and a relatively large chunk of cash, who wants to bounce right onto Team Llama just like I did!

So here's my gift to you. There are about 50 books out there on llamas and alpacas, written by people who have doctorates and many years of practical experience working with these animals. They are professionals, and I highly recommend that you rely on their advice before you rely on mine. However, in my short time as a llama caballero, I have learned a few things myself. My knowledge generally came at the expense of my ego, and sometimes, my rear end. Perhaps I can spare you a bruise or two with the following compendium of my hard-won knowledge.

Llamas spit. That's an unavoidable fact; all camelids (e.g. camels, llamas, alpacas) use this as a tool to express displeasure. However, a properly handled and herd socialized llama generally spits at other llamas...most of the time. If a llama spits at you, it's my experience that you're either doing something to annoy them (which can range all the way from innocuous things like cutting off their treat supply one morning to actual mistreatment), you're in the way when they are aiming for another animal, or your llama views you as another llama, instead of a person. In any case, it smells funky, and it means you're in for a shower, but it's not the end of the world. Don't believe anyone who tries to sell you a llama they claim "never spits". They all do, eventually, and if you go in to llama ownership knowing you'll be wearing sticky green goo at some point, you're much less likely to be shocked and angry when it happens. It doesn't mean your llama is mean or it hates you. However, the last scenario, where your llama views you as another llama, can be more of a problem. Let's look at that in a little more detail.

It's important to understand that llamas are herd animals. "Duh," you're probably thinking, "But so what?" This is important for two reasons. One, llamas do not fare well alone. They need some kind of animal company. Another llama is preferable, but if you can't do that, then you need to make sure there are goats, sheep, horses or similar small herd buddies to keep your llama from pining away. Llamas get along well with most other animals, and will even guard them.

Second, and more importantly, remember all those scenes in "When Animals Attack" of cute, little, harmless deer being filmed by an excited tourist? Then, suddenly the tourist is being thrown into the nearest tall tree on the pointy, non-cute antlers of the dominant buck? Yeah. Herbivorous herd animals, far from being the misty-eyed, zen creatures in Disney movies, are quite capable of attack. Llamas are smaller than, say, cattle and horses, and their feet are softer, but that doesn't mean you don't need to use some common sense and be aware of their cues.

See, properly trained llamas respect people, and only jockey for position within their herd, whether the herd is two or fifty. But there are few things cuter than a baby llama, and well-meaning people will coddle them, thinking it's adorable when the wee cria (llama baby, that's a vocabulary word; write these down, kids) follows them around, butting its fuzzy little head into them and demanding treats. Baby may be closer to their human handlers than to its mama or other herdmates. All will seem wonderful in Cuddleville, until the wee cria grows up into a two year old teenage llama with hormones and attitude, just like human teenagers.

This is particularly true of intact (not castrated/neutered) male llamas. Then the formerly adorable  crowding and pushing and getting in your face means something different; he's testing you for weaknesses. "How far can I go?" Surly Teenage Llama wonders, as you laugh when he shoves past you to get to the water trough, even though there's 4 feet of room on the other side to use. If the behavior is not corrected immediately, firmly, and every time, it will escalate. How do I know this? Because Ricky, our Surly Teenage Llama, got the drop on me one particularly hot day. I was standing downhill from him in the pasture, which put me at a disadvantage, and I wanted to get back to the barn. He moved to block me, I tried to push him aside, and he reared up and knocked me flat in a second.

Just that quick, he was using his body to pin me to the ground, while trying to bite my legs like he was auditioning for "Resident Evil: Zoopocalypse". Thankfully, Ricky is only about 250 pounds, and he was wearing the aforementioned halter, so I kept a death grip on his head. It was probably a good 3 or 4 minutes of struggling, but it felt like for-freakin'-ever. It was stiflingly hot, and as you probably guessed, it's hard to breathe with an angry llama on top of you. However, the heat worked for me, too. Ricky quickly got tired and let me up. I was shaking, dirty, scared, mad, and a little banged up, but I was very fortunate. He was mad, but he wasn't really interested in doing major damage. I literally forced myself back out there later, though I was armed with a foam bat and a water gun, because if he got the idea that he could drive me off, it would've been worse. I keep working with him, but I'm much more cautious now.

There are a couple of lessons here. You should always pay attention to your llama's body language, first of all. Llamas do not hide their feelings. If you ask a llama, "What's wrong?" it will never respond with a falsely cheerful, "Nothing!" You'll know if they are not happy. Ears pinned back, angry stare, grumbling, baring teeth, spitting...these are all things Ricky had been doing, and I did not get the hint. The other lesson is that beginners really shouldn't mess around with intact male llamas. I don't really have a choice, since Ricky was here first, and he belongs Mr. A & Mrs. G, but other first time llama owners just need to steer themselves toward well-trained, gentle, mature females or gelded males. Cassie is just such an animal, and even though she is twice Ricky's size, I never have to worry about her like I do him.

Now, somebody out there is going to pshaw me, and they are going to insist that their intact male, Little Lord Fauntleroy III, has been hand-raised, is just as sweet as can be, and he follows them around like a dog, and gives kisses, and never spits, and I am full of crap. To this I say, I hope you're right, but watch your back. Because that's exactly what we heard about Ricky. And if Little Lord Fauntleroy gets in a bad mood one day while you are filling the hay feeder, he will charge you, sending you butt-over-elbows while he rains kicks about your head and shoulders. Then, you will send me an e-mail saying that Fauntleroy broke your collarbone in two places, and you are typing with a toothpick clenched between your teeth, and you just don't understand how this could have happened. Then I will send you one of those Edible Arrangements, a box of toothpicks, and a card that says, "Sorry about your collarbone. I told you so."

None of this means you can't ever have an intact male, or that llamas are scary. I still love Ricky, and when he thinks I'm not paying attention, he will gently nuzzle me, looking for treats. They are animals, and like all animals, they're going to test the humans around them to see who makes them mind, and who is scared and therefore, can be pushed around. Get some confidence and experience by starting out with an already trained animal, buy from a reputable farm, and do lots of reading and research. You'll fall in love just like I did.