Life and Death

Around the time that the pregnant llamas came to live on our Lapoint property, a waif of a dog showed up under the old trailer. He had been brought there, and left, to die.

The dog was tiny, emaciated, half-wild with fear. He wouldn't come out from his hiding place except to eat the food we took him; then he'd slink out with his massive tan ears flattened, tail between his legs, ready to jump at any sudden movement. Everything about him showed that he had been badly abused.

Slowly but surely, the poor thing is warming up to us. Now he runs to greet us when we pull up, and occasionally follows us around the field until we leave again. He seems to especially love Sam. (And Slice seems to especially love him.)

Dobby's turning into an adorable dog with a great personality. So glad we saved his life.

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Today we went out to change water: Mom, Dad, Slice and I. We pushed the wheel line all the way to the top of the field before we noticed one of the llamas was acting strangely. She wasn't grazing with the others -odd enough in itself- and Slice saw she had something sticking out of her. It took a minute to realize that it was a leg.

We called Dad over just as she took off. Normally the llamas won't let us anywhere near them, but we could see how much pain she was in as she stopped every few steps with a contraction. As soon as we got her holding still, I went for her neck and Dad grabbed at the foot. She pulled (pushed?) as hard as she could while he pulled the other direction. Nothing. She was on her knees with the effort. I stroked her neck and talked to her.

It didn't look like the baby was alive. We had no idea how long that foot had been sticking out, but it wasn't moving at all ... and it definitely didn't look good. It was a front foot, we realized eventually. Dad had to reach in and find the other one; he and Slice pulled together, looking for the head. It took a LONG time to come.

Poor mama!

When it finally came, it all came, and a sticky black mess fell to the ground. It was dead.

The mama must have known, because she sank to the ground, exhausted, not even looking to see. It was several minutes before she got up and sniffed the baby, her own baby, her 11-month inhabitant.

Poor thing.

We gave her some time to mourn, found softer dirt to dig a grave. (Mom left.)

Slice dug a hole, and we went back to get the baby. The mother was standing over it, humming -that's what llamas do to their babies - and she wasn't about to let us take it. She almost charged Slice, actually. So we gave her some more time.

Dobby came out and followed us down the field to the wheel line motor. While the men worked, he pranced around, pouncing on unsuspecting creatures and prowling through the tall weeds. I watched the mother llama standing sentinel over her dead baby. An hour later, we left her there.

I can't get that picture out of my head.

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That was the first birth I've watched, strangely enough. It reminded me all too well of my own losses and those of my loved ones ... oh, how my heart ached for that mother.

When we got back home I crashed on the bed; two hours later, I awoke with a sore throat and that familiar lethargic feeling.

It's been a hard day.