It’s Saturday and clearly the weather has decided to give me a weekend break. I am happy to say that it is raining. Yes, lovely cool, wet stuff, falling from the cloudy sky and raising my spirits.
Today I will keep the shutters open and watch the birds feeding on the balcony. Today I will open the doors and let a refreshing breeze drift through the house. Today I will celebrate the drizzle and enjoy the absence of blue skies. Tomorrow, I will probably be moaning about the mud, and the slugs, and the fact that I can’t dry the washing. But today I am happy.
This morning, in between the welcome showers, we did the usual round of llama visits and progress continues on all fronts.
Elif will now let me touch her head and even her neck, while I’m feeding her from my hand, and I think it may have dawned on Fatma that letting these strange people touch you is a good way to get extra grub. She has started trying to get in on the act, while I’m communing with Elif, and I’m thinking that I may as well work on her at the same time.
Capucine, although she still doesn’t eat anything other than natural vegetation and hay, always rushes to greet us at the gate, and this morning even tried to help get it open by lifting the rope off the post using her mouth. It was probably just a random bit of ‘mouthing’ behaviour, but we like to pretend there was an intelligent intent behind it.
Over at the Walker’s field, Simon took Valentine for another walk while I stayed behind with the other two. I get to have all the fun!
Actually, watching how the left-behind-ones behave is quite interesting, if a little bit anxiety-provoking. They always become very agitated when one of them is taken out, and if I keep them in the small enclosure near the gate, they pace around frantically, breathing heavily, humming in a high-pitched tone of uncertainty, looking as if they will try to jump over the fence at any second.
After the difficulty we had the last time Simon took Duc out, when Valentine and Ana tried to barge their way out of the gate to follow, I thought we’d better get them out of the catch pen before Simon got to open the main gate. So this morning that’s what we did, with the result that, as soon as Simon and Valentine headed off down the track, Duc and Ana charged back into the field and up the hill and round to the side fence-line, as if trying to see where they had gone.
When llamas are running around at full pelt, particularly when they seem a bit anxious, they can be quite a scarey sight. The narrowness of the steep pathways they have forged between the various open areas on the land, make it impossible to easily get out of the way if you get caught midway when they decide to stampede down them.
This morning, when Duc and Ana had headed up the hill, I decided to lead them on to the open area on the other side where we could all see Simon and Valentine walking sedately round the wheat field in the distance. Which was fine, until they went out of sight again, whereupon, Duc decided to head off up even higher, with Ana in hot pursuit. (I really don’t know what she would do left to her own devices – she seems to copy everything the boys do all the time. Sometimes I wonder if she might have a gender-identity crisis when she’s a bit older).
As I knew Simon would shortly be coming back, I wanted to get back down to the catch-pen to be ready with a food treat for Valentine, and I calculated that, if I was quick about it, I could probably get down the steep narrow path before Duc and Ana came hurtling down behind me. I set off.
About half way down I heard the unmistakable sound of large animals thrashing through the undergrowth. I didn’t turn to look. I started running.
But the undergrowth they were thrashing through was not behind me where I thought, but slightly to the side, and as I was running full speed down the hill, I suddenly came face to face with Ana, who had taken a short cut through the middle and was now galloping up the path, full speed towards me.
A nanosecond passed in which I visualised the inevitable consequences of the impact of two bodies accelerating toward each other at great velocity. GCSE physics equations sprang to mind.
Whilst unable to immediately halt my forward motion (I tell you, that hill is steep!), I continued onward and downward toward my doom. I shouted (in an oh-so-commanding, and a little-bit-scared-witless voice) “STOP!!”.
Much to my relief, she did a cartoon-animal screech to a standstill, turning broadside on, with head up and ears back, and let out a loud clucking noise (of which Elif would have been proud). I suspect she had the same thoughts as me, when she saw me hurtling towards her. So, in llama vocabulary, I now believe that clucking means “Stop (where you are)”. And when I think of the occasions on which Elif has used it near Pedro, it certainly has had the result of stopping him in his tracks. It’s not so much a warning sound, as a direct command. If only French was as easy to understand as Llama.
Ah well, never a dull moment with llamas. Who said ‘life’s calmer with a llama’? They didn’t know our llamas, obviously. Although, when they were all reunited and kushed down in their favourite spot after the morning’s excitement, you’d think they were the zen-est creatures around. Appearances can be so deceptive.
