Llama Home at Last

A HUGE thank you to everyone who helped with this project! Also a big thank-you to blogs like Fuglyblog and Snarkyrider, which have encouraged me not to sit on my butt when I know about neglect. The llama is now home, safe and sound. Picking him up early this morning was mercifully uneventful. He even unloaded wonderfully. He's still reluctant to be touched, but will allow it for a little while. He is EXTREMELY excited by other animals-- and of course my horses were just out of their tiny minds with disbelief.

"Dear God, there's a mutant deer in our barn!"

After I locked the llama in the barn, I let the horses into the yard for breakfast. Mr. Strut immediately charged to the barn, took one look at what was inside, and spun a 180 that would have made a reining champion proud. He refused to come anywhere near the llama after that. Annie, on the other hand, stood at a distance making the "what the hell is that?!" snort and eventually felt brave enough to go up and sniff. Neither of them have met a llama before; they are totally confused.

After the horses backed off to eat breakfast, the llama became frantic; he couldn't see them anymore and paced back and forth, trying to stick his head through the gate to find them. I think he's been desperately lonely for a long time. The fact that he is not so excited by humans just proves that he's learned from experience that humans mostly suck.

 

The only bad thing about today was this:

Yeah. All that nice straw I put down for the llama's bedding stuck to the mat of burdocks embedded in his fur. He now looks like a walking haystack! I HAVE to do something about his coat. I just don't know what; if I shear him, he'll be cold, and trying to pry the burdocks out one by one may well be impossible-- and painful. He may just have to look ridiculous until it gets warmer.

Anyway, I checked on him throughout the day, and he seems to be eating, drinking and pooping just fine. He will not eat horse treats or sweet feed; tomorrow I'll try him on carrots and apples. My guess is that just like Annie was, he's been too neglected to even know what treats are.

 

Oh, and I am fascinated by his feet. Two toes with talons? They look like they belong to a fantasy creature!

Llama Saga

We got the llama!

It was NOT easy-- it took us almost three hours. The vet was an amazing shot with his tranquilizer dart blowgun, but it was hard for him to get close enough, and the llama's awful coat of burrs acted like armor. Then, even though the llama took at least two tranquilizer darts, it STILL didn't go down.

Eventually however, it did get woozy enough for the vet to lasso it-- barely. It took all of us, pushing and pulling, to make him move to the trailer. He wasn't fighting, and didn't try to spit or kick even once, but he was pretty firm about not wanting to move. Once haltered and tied to the trailer, he was reasonably calm, and the vet was able to give him wormer, vaccinations and a toenail trim. The vet reports that he's not starving, but judging by the condition of his feet, had probably never had vet care. Also, his face is seriously disfigured:

 

That weird bump thing is what's left of the top part of his nose. The vet says it looks like he'd had a small halter put on him when he was young, and as the llama grew, it was never taken off and became embedded in his skin. Eventually part of the nose actually rotted off, and part was overgrown with scar tissue.

It's truly amazing that this guy is alive.

The llama was apparently brought out to the farm by some Hispanics. They had rented part of an old pasture to raise sheep on, and became concerned about coyotes. Since llamas can act as guard animals, they put the llama in with the sheep. Eventually, the Hispanics took the sheep out-- and just left the llama. It's been there for years. It seems to have survived by roaming freely on a hayfield next to its broken-fenced pasture.

Unfortunately, the llama is not home quite yet. In the abnormally warm weather this afternoon, the field became a mudhole, and the farmer didn't want to tear up his hayfield by pulling the trailer out with his tractor until the ground is frozen again. It will freeze tonight, so the llama is camping in the trailer until early tomorrow morning. The vet said he'll be fine; he's got food, water, and the stock trailer is roomy. I don't like leaving him out there alone, especially within reach of crazy Skyla (see previous blogs) whom I can just see opening the trailer door to sing to him or bring him bagels or something. So help me God, if she lets this llama escape... I did call her to warn her NOT to open the trailer door. She reacted defensively to the whole thing, but did promise not to interfere. Becky and Erin advised me to lock the trailer. It might be a good idea, especially considering her previous lies... (again, see older blog posts)

The vet told us that the llama is large for a llama, gelded (yay!!) and probably isn't very old-- more than five, but less than ancient is the best guess he had. (Apparently, llamas can't be aged by their teeth as well as horses and deer can.) Since llamas live about 20-25 years, this poor guy should be able to enjoy a much nicer life for a good long while-- though nothing will make up for the neglect he's suffered. I'm still not sure I want to keep him permanently myself, but I guarantee he will have a good home for life no matter what. If he gets another owner besides me, you can be sure I will be triple-checking references beforehand. First things first: cleaning him up, gentling him and making sure he's healthy.

Oh, and he's going to need a name. An unreliable source (Skyla) claimed that his name might once have been "Morris." That's not fitting for a big, tough survivor like him! He doesn't need a macho name, but he does need one that reflects his will to live, and his bravery. Suggestions?

Oh, and p.s. apparently other Hispanics are keeping horses at the same farm, and possibly racing them at an underground racetrack near Jefferson. Has anyone heard anything about this?! These are the same horses I called animal control about (they did nothing).

More pictures from the llama saga:

Waiting for the tranquilizer to work.

A bag of llama poop, left by Skyla, who was convinced that the llama wouldn't poop without seeing poop nearby.

The vet and llama edge ever close to the manure pit. Uh oh!

Erin helps try to lasso the llama on the very edge of the shit pond. Ewww.

Finally got him!

First time petting him. Check out those burrs!

Llama's very first toenail trim. A few were badly twisted and overgrown.

More Llama Drama

Since the failed rescue attempt this Monday, I've been searching for a way to catch the darn llama. Suggestions from others have included:

• Hiring a roping cowboy and horse team to rope it and tie it
• Hiring someone with working dogs to herd it
• Trying to put some kind of sedative in the llama's food

Roping a llama only works if you rope a leg-- their skinny chicken necks are apparently too delicate to handle a lasso. And after you rope it using this much harder tactic, you then have a struggling llama to deal with. Dogs might work if we had some kind of corral-- but I doubt that even the best working dogs can forcefully herd an unwilling llama straight into a stock trailer. Finally, oral sedatives taste disgusting, unless they're so weak as to be practically useless-- so that was a no-go.

After playing phone tag with various vets across Wisconsin, I came round-about to a solution originally suggested by "Skyla" & crew: tranquilizer gun. (Well actually, they proposed that we might get the DNR to tranq the llama for free-- hah hah hah.) Anyway, I was referred to an older gentleman who earns substantial income acting as a sharpshooter, tranquilizing everything from donkeys to buffalo. However, he said that doing this is a tricky proposition, and he would only work with a certain vet.

Back on the phone, I eventually got ahold of this vet, who turned out to be Mike Edders of Lodi Veterinary. I love Lodi Vet (they take care of my horses). Mike said we probably wouldn't need a rifle; if he could get within 10-20 feet, he had a blowgun that would work. Blowgun?! Sweet! I set up a Saturday appointment immediately, asking him to vaccinate, deworm and check on the llama's wounds while it was sedated. Awesome-- not only could we catch the llama, it could have all the vet work done right then and there-- without having to wait weeks taming it first. After years of neglect, I'm sure the llama needs it ASAP. Mike estimated the cost would be $250-$350, depending on how long we were out there playing llama rodeo. It's a reasonable cost, though it hurts (my bank account is anemic, since my husband still isn't getting paid) but it's the right thing to do.

I called Skyla and left a message to inform her of the appointment, the cost, and asked to call up the farm boys and ask them to help pull the trailer out of the mud again. I also asked nicely whether she could chip in for the vet costs.

Skyla called back while I was at work and left me a message. She was shocked at the cost of the vet work and accused the vet of having "a heart of stone" and being greedy. I'm not sure, but she may have also accused me of inflating the costs in order to get more money from her to keep for myself. Here's a transcription of her message:

"Hi *NorthHorse* it's [Skyla] I got your message, my phone has been acting up... um, you said it was going to cost between $250 and $350... and yes I'd like to help out, but I'm confused... I thought our objective was to find someone who would do it 'pro bono,' for free, you know, with the heart of recovering this desperate animal that needs to be caretaked and new home and...has this guy got a heart of stone or something? Where he's just cutting you off a piece of his pie? I'm sure you've got good references from him...couldn't we just peck at his heart a little and get the cost down? I was hoping that since this was a rescue situation, desperate and humanitarian and stuff, he would, you know, get on board with that. I'm glad it's moving forward, but I'm a little confused."

Keep in mind that this same lady has been treating this "desperate animal" as a pet project to be taken up only after her lunch date with her daughter, walking her dog, etc etc etc. She's been delaying action for days, suggesting that moving the llama would be "traumatizing," and wanting to "make friends" with it before anything else. Originally, she even wanted to leave the llama "in the wild" since it was "fending so well for itself." Now all of a sudden it's a desperate situation?

I called Skyla back. She didn't answer, so I left another message. I very nicely explained that part of the cost was the costs of the drugs involved, which the vet couldn't change, and that while I agreed we would certainly ask the vet if he could knock a bit off the bill for charity's sake, vets have to make a living too. I asked her to please call the farmers and ask their permission about a Saturday appointment, and see if they would help me get the trailer out of the mud again.

Skyla called back while I was at work and left her shortest message ever: the answer was no. No, Saturday wouldn't work for the farmers, and Saturday wouldn't work for her either. Sorry, goodbye.

Hmmm....I called the farmers myself. Their names are Ryan and Jake, by the way; the same two young men that tried to help us catch the llama on Monday and got my truck unstuck the first time. Turns out, they're totally fine with the vet and I coming out Saturday. Ryan will be gone, but Jake is quite willing to hitch his tractor to the trailer and pull it out to the road for me.

Skyla lied in order to keep me from moving ahead with rescuing the llama. I think she wants to be in control of the situation.

Screw her then. I don't much care if Skyla's feelings are hurt. This is about the llama, not her. The sooner it receives proper food, water, shelter and vet care, the better. If I left things up to clueless-about-large-animals Skyla, that bimbo would be talking about spiritual healing in animals three months from now, while the llama dies of gangrene or something.

Though I am not going to call Skyla to tell her I'm moving ahead tomorrow, I am worried that she will show up anyway and cause a scene. She doesn't have any claim on the llama (it's my trailer, my vet, my farm, my money, and the farmers don't care) but I can see her getting upset at me/the vet/everyone in a crying hissy fit, or attempting to stop us, or following us back to my farm. Luckily, I've got backup; both Erin and Becky have agreed to help me again. What heroes! If anything does happen with Skyla, they may be able to help diffuse the situation. Or at least hold her down while the vet and I tranquilize her. (Just kidding.)

So that's it! We're on! I've taken vacation from work tomorrow, scraped the courtyard, gotten permission to borrow Dad's truck again, readied the gates and even got a lead on a nearby llama farmer for help and advice. In the morning, I'll be picking up some straw for bedding (the llama is going to have to stay locked in the barn until he's catchable) and maybe some feed to supplement the hay.

Becky's daughter is also coming along, and she says she's willing to take lots of pictures for me, so stay tuned for tomorrow's update!

P.S. Skyla has called me three times today. One of the things she wanted to tell me was that she thought she read that llamas don't like to poop where they haven't pooped before, so she filled a bag with llama poop and hung it in my trailer. Oooookaaaay....

Llama Fail

Apologies to any actual horsey people reading this blog (hah, nobody) but today is yet another llama-based blog. Today was Llama D-Day. I'd agreed to meet Skyla at the dairy farm where the neglected llama was roaming. The original plan was to simply to scope out the situation, and perhaps see if the llama could be bribed with food. (Well, Skyla's plan was to "stare at the llama" and "make friends" with it.) However, when I called her in the morning to coordinate, Skyla seemed especially gung-ho to get the llama moved. Not wanting to waste her sudden change of heart about "traumatizing" the animal, I jumped on the phone and started to try to round up helpers.

Dad wasn't feeling too well (or perhaps contracted a diplomatic virus to excuse his non-involvement), but I borrowed his truck and got over to the farm, where my friend Becky was waiting to help. After that, the entire rest of the afternoon was an almost unmitigated disaster.

First, the pasture gate was frozen to the ground and had to be chipped out, so that when Mr. Llama arrived, he could be separated from the horses.

I actually took this picture after the day was over, and then promptly dropped my cell phone into the muddy slush puddle.

Next, hitching the trailer to the truck took about seven frustrating tries because I'm an idiot, and because when you're in a hurry is the worst time to hurry. Luckily, the trip to the dairy farm itself was uneventful, and along the way I was even able to kidnap another friend, Erin, to help. She and Becky are truly good friends; it's not everyone that will agree to try and go rescue a wild llama on the spur of the moment, on a weekday, in the snow. Unfortunately, when we got there I immediately got the truck and trailer stuck in the mud, manure and snow-melt of the sloppy farm yard. Of course it wasn't paved, and was full of narrow, steep, rutted hillocks. By asking nicely I got a couple of the farmers to pull the truck out of the mud and re-position it in a better place. No doubt they thought our whole crew were idiots, and they looked very busy-- nevertheless, they did their best to help us. I don't really blame them for the llama's neglect. They appear to be hired hands or younger sons, working at a hard, filthy job on what looks to be a secondary farm. It's not their llama, not their job, not their concern. They may be guilty of simple indifference, but so am I-- how many times have I driven past this llama and not done anything about it?

 

The llama was out in the middle of a hay field. The dilapidated cow pasture it might once have been contained in doesn't really have fences. It does have some standing snags of barbed wire that constantly threatened to trip and injure us and the llama as it evaded us. The sheer size of the llama's area is discouraging. There must be well over 100 acres of barren fields that the llama can run around on. That made trying to corral it nearly impossible. The farm didn't have any area at all to even begin to contain the furry critter. Nevertheless, we tried.

 

Oh how we tried. We tried surrounding it and walking slowly, herding it up towards the trailer. We tried the same thing with a rope to try to form a moving fence. We tried running around it like a wolf pack, scaring it towards the trailer. We tried tempting it with food (this worked) and then lassoing it (this failed miserably). Erin almost got knocked down, I got a nasty rope burn, and the llama didn't seem to tire. When we finally realized that there was just no way we were going to get the llama to the trailer, we tried to bring the trailer to the llama. This involved a plunge down an questionable field drive and a hair-raising trip across the snowy ground, fishtailing all the way. Once there, we realized the llama was even further afield, and half our volunteers were ready to be done.

Llama rescuers unite! Sort of.

Becky and Erin were great sports, getting their frozen feet soaked, jogging through the brush and helping uncomplainingly despite the numerous setbacks. The other three...Well, I've blogged about how weird "Skyla" is before. She showed up with 60 feet of clothesline "rope" and a red plastic tub (to serve the llama hay in). In this picture, she's the one dressed like an eccentric nun in a rainstorm. She spent her time hobbling after us, making odd suggestions and mildly disparaging remarks about our efforts. Her friend in the front-middle of this picture showed up quite late and chatted with Skyla most of the time. Ken, hiding in the back of the group, played the role of "manager," offering a constant stream of useless advice based on his "expert" knowledge of llamas, apparently gained by knowing someone who had one once. Despite the farmers' offers of assistance with their tractors, Ken insisted on being the one to get my truck out of the sticky field. In my first wise moment of the entire day, I gave him the keys and walked away. Sometimes, you just have to let a man do his "man thing" and pretend not to notice how stupid he's being. It saves arguments and overall, time. For Ken, this meant him putting hay under the rear wheels of the front-wheel drive truck to serve as traction. Though he did finally get the truck unstuck, he left me plenty of time to snap pictures. We left the trailer behind, open and full of hay, in the unlikely event that the llama might decide to go in on its own, or at least become used to its presence. At the very very least, there is finally some food available. Besides which, if I had demanded to bring it home, I'm sure Ken would have insisted on helping.

 

The worst part of the failed chase was knowing that although the llama was feisty enough to run away from us, it's clearly suffering. We found spatters and drops of blood in many places, and Erin mentioned the llama's deformed, injured-looking face without any influence on my part. Clearly, it's not just me that thinks his head is messed up.

 

We're not giving up. We are, however, looking at a possible solution that I had at first ridiculed: a tranquilizer gun. Yes, apparently vets do have these. The question is, how expensive is it going to be to hire a vet to traq a llama? Will that even work? Why do I have to be the kind of person that worries about a goddamn wild-ass llama in the first place? These questions and more may be resolved by next Monday.

Aside from "Skyla's" numerous unintentionally funny statements and the dedication of my friends, the only highlight of today was seeing the baby calves. Dairy cows are weird-headed, slobbering, stinky monsters. Dairy calves are probably the cutest things on the entire planet. *sigh* I really need to work pasture-fed organic meat and dairy into my budget.

Llama Update

I was all set to go to the llama's farm after work and talk to the farmer myself, when I got a message from Skyla. She wanted to talk to me about the llama. It seems she's had a change of heart: she does want to move the llama after all. Well, sort of.
She still doesn't want to traumatize it, so her plan, basically, is to go out and make friends with the llama until it trusts her enough to follow her into a trailer. *massive eyeroll* Apparently, she's willing to let me help with this... some day. She's in no hurry to do something for the llama-- when I told her I could visit immediately after work that very day, or any time Sunday, or any time Monday, she claimed tiredness, a lunch date with her daughter, the desire to go to a log cabin expo, and the need to walk her dog. I reminded her that the llama was out there in the cold, with no food, shelter or water. She responded by saying that the llama had survived this long, and well, she was worried too but there was nothing she could do and she would just have to "give it to the Lord." We finally decided on late Monday morning. She cautioned me very strongly not to go out there without her.

I am beyond frustrated that this lady wants to help the llama-- but only on her terms, after her own fun is done. "Give it to the Lord" is a lazy, self-serving justification for not getting off of her ass sooner. It's sort of like saying, "Well, I am worried about those starving children in Africa, but I just spent all my extra money on a new convertible, so I'll just have to give it to the Lord."

I'm willing to play along until this Monday. After all, I don't know these farmers personally, and I don't want to jeopardize a chance to save the llama by offending Skyla, and thus perhaps the farmers themselves. I don't yet know how close they are. Monday will give me a chance to meet the farmers myself, scope out what the situation would be for getting a trailer in there, and estimate how hard it's going to be to catch the darn llama anyway. With any luck, and a lot of help from Dad, I can organize a rescue that very afternoon-- whether or not Skyla thinks it will be "traumatic" or not.

The most traumatic thing happening here is that the llama is still out there, hungry and cold.

More updates coming soon.

A Horse of a Different Color: Annie's Past & Backyard Breeders

I did promise to return to the topic of Annie's past, her neglect issues and injury, and since I'm not ready to reveal any master endurance racing fitness plan yet, this seems like a good time to do that.

I call Annie a "rescue horse," but I didn't get her from a horse rescue. I was almost done with college when I saw an ad on Craigslist (who can resist browsing horses on Craigslist?). It said something like, "Yearling paint filly. Has an injury in her hip, but really sweet. Halter broke. Don't have enough time or money. First $100 cash takes her, or she goes to auction next week."

Well, I thought I'd just "go look."

Riiiiight. If you're a horse person, you know there's no such thing.

When I got there, I found a ribby, wormy, shaggy filly in a dirt paddock. She had a strange patch on her left hip; when I asked what it was, the owner informed me that so many flies were attracted to the pus draining from the filly's wound, she (the owner) had decided to superglue a gauze patch over the top.

Do you know how fast I took that filly home?

Pretty fast.

Annie's condition was the result of bad breeding, bad management and just plain bad people.

The lady I bought her from said she gotten the filly from a breeder-- a "backyard breeder." This guy had bred a whole bunch of horses, and left a bunch of them together in a rusty, broken roundpen surrounded by junk. While being bullied by other horses, Annie got herself impaled on one of these rusted pieces of junk. The lady brought her home, glued gauze over the top of the wound and left her.

While I feel a healthy amount of hate towards Annie's second owner, the breeder who brought her into the world deserves most of my (and your) anger. Backyard breeders usually seem to think that any "colored" horse, regardless of its breeding, conformation or temperament, can be sold for a good profit. As a result, these people are breeding countless spotted/palomino/buckskin/cremello foals, many of whom meet a fate worse than Annie's. You merely have to visit any local horse auction to see a dozen of these "colored" foals, now mostly unhandled yearlings and two-year-olds, sell to the local slaughter buyer for $100 or less.

Color alone means nothing. Conformation, temperament, training and registration mean more. Breeding for color alone is irresponsible, and dooms thousands of horses to slaughter every year. We have enough unwanted horses in the United States-- let's not make more of them, even if they are PINK.

Anyway, back on topic:

After a lot of food and TLC Annie looked a lot better. Wormer and Equishine supplements made her look and feel a lot better, and the Equishine reduced the neglect-related swelling of growth plates in her legs. However, no matter how many times I cleaned out the wound in her hip, it wouldn't heal. The half-dollar-sized hole closed up to the size of a dime, but it continued to leak thick yellow-white pus. The vet came out and prescribed antibiotics for a month. The wound was less pussy-- but refused to heal. Meanwhile, Annie's personality blossomed. She became interested in people, curious about her surroundings and extremely affectionate.

After another cleaning by the vet, an ultrasound to try to figure out what was going on with the wound and another round of antibiotics, Annie went in for surgery. Despite being on a trailer ride just once before in her whole life, and NEVER having been in a stall before, she was extremely well behaved for her trip to the vet's. She came home two days later with a wound the size of a golf ball in her hip. The vets had removed a bone chip, chunks of necrotic bone and other infected material.

It took a long time for Annie to heal-- and in the meantime, her wound had to be cleaned daily, and she was on several medications. She hated her Bute (an oral pain medication), but was otherwise a very good girl.

I spent the next two years taking her for walks, working on her ground manners, teaching her to lunge (or "longe" if you prefer) and getting her used to a saddle.

At two years old, she had matured into a gorgeous young lady:

At three years old, I sent her to a trainer for 30 days of saddle training:

Adam Hoon at Pine Dance Ranch, near Lodi, WI. A great trainer!

...and now, at age 3.5, I ride her regularly around my farm. We're taking things slowly, in part because I'm lazy, but also because she's not done growing yet, and I don't believe in pushing her too hard, too fast. She sometimes still "drags" her left leg a little but seems to be in no pain and was pronounced sound by my vet. Only time will tell if the old injury will impact her performance in a serious way.

This May, Annie will turn 4 years old, and be eligible to participate in under-30-miles Competitive and Limited Distance rides. I hope to ride her regularly over this winter, working up to ten mile rides, then move to fifteen miles in early spring. From there we'll do a little trailering to area trails, and maybe even some overnight camping. Then we'll try a "real" event, probably a 15 mile Novice Division ride in Palmyra, WI, in May or June. Fifteen miles is the shortest ride offered at official events-- it's for newbies like us. By the end of the riding season (Sept/Oct), we should have worked up to 25 and 30 mile rides. 2013 will be the first year we'll be eligible to ride over-30-milers, but we probably won't do more than a couple of 50 milers. In 2014, I'll push Annie to do more 50s, and at least one 100 mile race. 2015 is our goal Tevis year. I'll be 29 and Annie will be 7-- about the same age, comparatively. That year will be scary. It may be necessary for us to travel out west a few months in advance of the Tevis in order to acclimatize to the higher altitudes, which can seriously affect the performance of horses and riders who aren't adjusted to the lack of oxygen.