Llama Love

Part of the reason we bought this house was that there were llamas grazing in the pasture next to our potential new-to-us-home.  Seriously, this was a draw for us.  Ah, country life.  They could be seen from the room that we hoped Grady would inhabit and his mornings would be spent waking up and gazing at these wonderful creatures.  Doesn't that sound lovely?  It is.  It was.

Our sweet neighbors who own Big Tree Llama Farm have lived in Valley Ford for approximately 35 years.  They moved here when Jim (the owner) was my husband's age and Jim is now 79.  They have raised dozens of llamas over the years and every year, for the past three years, they move the llamas to our pasture on G's birthday.  Each year G forgets all about it and then he's stunned that they are back.  Last year they brought tears to his eyes upon their return and that just melted my heart.

We have many names for the llamas.  They have given names from Jim & Beulah and then they have, um, our names.  When we moved in Grady named them Grass, Farm, Black, Fur & Pete.  The names have slowly morphed over time and one, in particular, is now Hog (for her love of food), but her given name is Lotus Blossom.  She is the middle llama pictured above.

My phone rang and it was Beulah letting me know that Miss Lotus Blossom had died and she didn't want this to alarm or frighten Grady if he happened to see her body laying out in the pasture.  This news just about broke my heart.  She was 23 years old and I'm told that's a real long time for a llama.  Llamas are fierce protectors and also have this gentle presence about them.  Long and lovely eyelashes, really funky teeth and soulful eyes.  She had the alias Hog and G fed her plenty of carrots on his birthday to keep her satisfied.

We ended up picking calla lillies and putting them on the tarp that was covering her sweet little llama body (to keep the turkey vultures away, of course).  We shared memories and kind words about her, as the sun was setting on the pasture behind our house.  G pet the plastic blue tarp and asked if he could just take one last look at her face.  He told her he loved her and was sorry he called her Hog.

I'm a little haunted at the loss of life I've come to experience in my own backyard over the last few weeks.  A cow put out of its misery via one big, loud gunshot within earshot of our home; I had to kill my very injured white silkie hen named Mama (truth be told Steve had to finish that job); and now Lotus Blossom is dead.

More than ever, I am reminded of the circle of life.  We are born, we live, we die.  That's all I know for sure.  Heck, isn't that all any of us know for sure?