The Chronicles of Harry

JULY 5. 

Why oh why do I have a llama? I will tell you why I have a llama. Because I am pathologically incapable of saying no to an animal, for one thing. Also, he sort of came with the goats. And the goats came with the farm. Since they were there first, I didn't think it quite sporting to boot them off. When I told people I was inheriting a llama, to a man they asked "Llamas. Don't they spit?" While I can, to be fair, admit this llama has never spit at me, he has displayed some other less than savory character flaws. He is socially challenged. He has a decidely unkempt appearance, which cannot be changed until I can figure out how to lay hold of him. But today, the rat bastard llama escaped from captivity and was found nonchalantly EATING MY FLOWERS. This is a cardinal sin. 

It took 4 of us to herd him back into a pasture and close the gate. Feeling entirely too self-satisfied, I considered that the end of the matter. Folly. Serious folly. Not 2 hours later, he was out again. Too many pastures, too many gates. By then there were only two of us there, and He Who Shall Hereafter Be Called Harry (because he is. hairy. and because of Houdini) laughed at us for trying to herd him. There may have been spitting involved, but I think it was laughter.

JULY 7. 

Ooooo-kaaaay, then, so here is what I learned today: 

(1)When you have livestock it is very important that every single person knows to shut every single gate.

(2)Three million acres of cabbage plants with seed stalks as high as my shoulder is NOT FUN TO RUN THROUGH.

(3)A llama running full bore straight at you is an impressive thing.

(4)Apparently me running full bore at a llama is also an impressive thing.

(5)Llamas are stooooopid.

(6)Emergency personnel are quite amused when you call them to ask for help catching your runaway llama.

So here is the story. For those of you who have seen my posts of late, you know of Harry, the black hairy r-b (I called him a rat bastard, I do apologize, and there will be no further profanity. Or not too much.) llama of my recent acquisition, who escaped not once but twice, and has remained at large. At very large, I might add. So today the lovely woman from whom I acquired the llama called me. The neighbors called her. A large black llama roaming your fields is not a treat, apparently. So at least I knew in which direction he had been spotted.

So Kate and I (with appropriate footwear this time) trekked from our property to the next and around this humongous field of cabbagey things, past a collection of beehives (not my favorite part), following the fire lane. And voila, there is Harry, just laying down in the firelane clear on the opposite side of said three million acres of cabbage. We had gone armed with a hefty sheaf of yummy looking grasses. Harry was not impressed. He stood and looked ready to make off again upland, but alas, there was a deer in his path so he paused. Based on exactly what inspiration I have no idea, we started making noises like goats. Actually they sounded more like sheep, but close enough. This confused Harry to the point of immobility. We slowly advanced. I was also armed with a lead rope. Just when it looked like victory was possible, he turned and ambled off down another firelane into yet another neighbor's fields, this of wheat or oats or something. We followed him, and finally just got fed up with attempts to tempt or cajole him.

"Kate", I said, "How fast can you run?"

Perhaps you can see the direction this is all headed at this point. Downhill. And rapidly. But Kate took off gamely after the llama, and was actually gaining on him, when he turned and ran right past her. As I only had a flimsy lead rope not a throwing rope, I leaped at him as he passed and got a grip on a hunk of fur (he is VERY hairy) but couldn't hold it. SO he took off back the direction we had come. In general, this was a good development because that meant he might just go home. Instead, he headed into a grove of trees smack in the middle of all that damnable cabbage. We trudged to the trees, and split up going around the edge. I heard him in the middle of the dense growth. Suddenly Kate hollered that he had come out her side and was headed for me.

"Mom", she says. "Run right at him!"

Yeeeaaaahhhh, RIGHT. See lesson learned number 3 above. I had already observed this at close range on the edge of the oat field. But figuring if I at least made a show of authority he might stand still, I gamely ran right at him. (Don't fear, readers, I did not run at him very far, I am not suicidal today) Whereupon he turned and ran the only direction open to him - away from the trees, between me and Kate, and into all that CABBAGE. Can I just say that I HATE CABBAGE? We tried to follow him, but see lesson number 2. Not happening. By the time we both emerged from the edge of the field, Harry was again at large. We trudged for home.

Fast forward. Back again at the house, I called my go-to-guy country friend Bill. To see if he owns a tranquilizer gun. He does not. Sigh. So, on his suggestion of calling the sheriff's department, I dialed 911. I am in a pasture, I do not have a phone book, so DO NOT FUSS AT ME. The 911 operator was very nice. I immediately made it known that the "nature of my emergency" was just that I would like to be connected to animal control for Marion County. She asked me why. I (unfortunately) told her. Thankfully these people did NOT ask my name. She thereupon connected me to another very nice gentleman who was a dispatcher for this part of Marion County. Of course, the call immediately dropped. So I called 911 back. With the benefit of experience from my prior call, I just asked to be connected to the dispatcher for Silverton area calls. She then says "Is this about the llama?" Oh God.

So she then suggests I call a vet, and gives me the after hours number for one. I call, leave a message, and some time later he calls back. He was even more amused than the 911 operator, and suggested perhaps tranquilizer was not the sort of gun I was looking for. He also advised me not to chase the llama. Nice time to tell me that. He also advised me this was going to be very expensive. He had to hang up to take another emergency call, so I was spared further discussion at that moment.

By this time my husband has arrived on the scene. He takes off while I am walking every foot of our fenceline making sure there are not any modes of egress of which I am unaware. He calls me (ah, cell phones) to tell me he has spotted Harry. I start walking so that we can end up with the llama between us. This works nicely. BUt by this time it is nearly dark, and the llama is black, and I don't know if I am as hard to see as he is but I don't want to find out the hard way by getting little cloven hoofprints all over my body. So (thank you very much App Store) I turn on my STROBE LIGHT on my iPhone. Harry is very intrigued by this. Then I tell him firmly to GO HOME. He takes off down the edge of the cababge fields like he actually is going to do just that.

I have left the gate wide open in a lovely pasture. But, see lesson number 5. Harry passes all that lovely grass up, and keeps going to who knows where. It is now full on dark and I am past caring. Tomorrow is another day. I am looking online for sources of tranquilizer guns.

Stay tuned.

JULY 10

Alrighty, so here is what I learned yesterday but was too tired to post last night. (Oh - and Harry is still on the loose. Called SIX vet practices, 3 didn't answer phone, 2 referred me to one that didn't answer phone, and the other wanted like $400. Need more people, then we can herd him.) SO - what I learned:

I am a terrible farmer. IF being a farmer requires one to be emotionally detached from their animals and then kill them, I suck at it. Well, I suck at select portions of it - I could kill chickens all day long, and once they are adults it is difficult for me to bond much with a steer, they're just too bloody big and potentially violent. But, alas, not true for sheep.

For the second year, my daughter showed sheep for 4H. For the second year, she did market lambs. The point of this, as may be obvious, is that they (or at least one) go to market at the end. The Dreaded Auction.

Of course, they have names (last year Bonnie and Clyde, this year Johnny and June though Johnny didn't make weight), and that makes it tougher. It is hard to kill something with a name. And sheep are crafty. Stupid but crafty. They are so skittish you can't catch them yet alone handle them until just about fair time, then at fair they are your new best friend, eat from your hand, and LOOK AT YOU. With their EYES.

So last night was auction. June knew something was up, and it was difficult to see her all skittish again in her little pen, like a prisoner all alone in the last hour before the chair or chamber. I was sympathetic but not worried for her personally because she is a she. Last year we had ewe lambs too, and the understanding was that girls get bred boys get eaten (not such a bad system!). Well, this year June was bought by Kate's best friend's parents. TO EAT. Kate tells me this and I fall apart. NOT JUNIE!!!

What followed involved tears, an exasperated though amused husband, and a daughter with phenomenal problem-solving skills. The result was the buyer pays what he expected but gets 25# more meat, because he is getting a fellow 4H-er's other lamb (can only market one) who is a neutered male, I pay that 4H-er's mom what she wanted for the lamb, which is about $100 less than the buyer is paying Kate, who pays me back when she gets her money. So Buyer gets meat, friend gets $ and unloads sheep, Kate gets $100 profit and gets to keep her lamb. Which we plan to breed. Whew.

OBVIOUSLY we cannot go through this process every time so I simply cannot raise animals for eating that I can get attached to. Which makes me a ridiculous excuse for a farmer.

TOO BAD. C'mon home to the farm, June-bug.

JULY 11

MWAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!

Victory is MINE!

After spending the entire day painting, breaking only to run to the fairgrounds for the last time, our friends pulled up with June (the lamb saved from being dinner) in their trailer. We got her situated in the pasture, introduced to the three goats (not fans) and watched as it turned out her best friend was Chevy! We expected Chevy to herd the lamb, but she didn't have to - wherever she went June trotted along behind her. It was hysterical.

Finally, with dusk coming, it was time. To try. Again. SIGH. I knew he was out there, my crafty opponent, just waiting, laughing in his little llama way.

We had a plan, though, and one more person. So we set out around the infamous cabbage patch- Kate went uphill with the bucket of feed, John and I went downhill with two long ropes between us. The plan was to hopefully find Harry, and come at him from both directions, appease him with some grain, then string the ropes between us and try to herd him.

He was exactly where he was the last time (soooo predictable). He got up and headed into the cabbage (SOOOOO predictable), but when Kate rattled the grain he was at least tempted. So we set the bucket down and backed off for a minute, while he snacked. But as soon as we approached again off he went. So we split up again. I headed for home, with the plan being to wait in the firelane of the cabbage patch just past the turnoff to our pasture, so that when he came along trying to get away from Kate and John I could head him in.

I waited. And I waited. And when it was so dark I could no longer see my feet, I decided I couldn't see an approaching black llama either. My spiffy strobe App iPhone plan was a no go since I had left it in the kitchen. So I went to the house and texted John to make sure all was well, and to let them know I was at the house.

My phone starts quacking (yes, John's ring tone is a duck) and John says they are passing the bees (remember the bees? Well I'm glad I hadn't just waited there in the dark because that was THE WRONG DIRECTION. They had gone all the way around the huge damn cabbage patch instead of down the hill the way I went. I would have had a big black llama approaching me FROM BEHIND. Seriously!!!

Anyway, I took my cell phone and hoofed it back up the hill to the cabbage and stood in the firelane above the turnout to home. I turned on my iPhone and waited. Here came the black menace, and John is calling out to me "Don't startle him!" Ummmm, we won't talk about who is capable of startling whom between a woman in a white T-shirt with a brightly glowing cell phone and a black llama - in the dark. I couldn't have cared less about startling him! So I waved my cell phone and luck was with us. Luck and the moon - it was dark in the cabbage patch, but the moon was shining on our pasture. Like a beacon lighting the way home. YES!! Harry turned into our property.

But recall I said he was a crafty opponent. No sooner had he turned into our property than he took off up a narrow path along the pasture fence that headed back to the cabbage firelane, instead of heading through the meadow to the open pasture gate. Kate had arrived on scene, so we called out to John to run fast up the firelane and head him off. This actually worked, and we got him back into our meadow. Kate had a rope and I had my glowing phone, and between us we presented sufficient incentive that he finally turned and ran into the pasture.

FINALLY!!!!!

So, I wrote a poem in his honor. This is not fine literature, don't be disappointed.

I met a llama on the path

He made me want to kick hith ath.

I met a llama in the lane

He filled my head with gnawing pain.

I met a llama in the garden

Eating flowers, asked no pardon.

I took all I could of this brand of fun

Then searched in vain for a tranquilizer gun.

But in the end it paid to wait

The monster finally went through the gate.

So now the farm is quiet and merry.

POX VOBISCUM Dirty Harry.

(For the Latin challenged among my readership, which I certainly hope for your sakes is most of you, "Pax vobiscum" means Peace Be With You. Noooo, I did not misspell PAX. It is a CURSE.)

Ahhh. I think I may spit at him.