Now, for the Rest of the Story

It was just a week ago that I returned from being trapped in Oklahoma City following the worst ice storm of the century. In fact, even today, over 70,000 homes are without electric power. Anyway, I got home on Monday and by Tuesday, realized that much work needed to be done in the paddocks. I also realized that the crias had not been weighed for almost 5 days. I was particularly concerned about little Aurora, our little girl who was only two weeks old and dealing with freezing temperatures. I was also concerned about the amount of milk her mother, Aliza, was delivering; as I had never seen the “got milk?” look on Auroras face. I therefore made the decision to go through the weighing drill Tuesday morning. In that Sue was home and trapped in the house do to back pain, I also decided to remove the cria coats and have Sue give them a quick cleaning and run in the dryer.

This all sounds like a good idea, but the temperatures were near freezing, the paddocks were covered in ice. That which was not under ice was freezing mud. Sue argued that weighing was not needed, as the crias looked active and healthy, Aurora had visibly grown (or her cria coat had shrunk by about 25%) and I would probably kill myself on the ice. Sues reasoning was flawless, but my engineering mind insisted that all obvious goodness be quantified with numbers. It also appears, in retrospect, that my “common sense switch” was in the OFF position. So out into the winter went the overconfident engineer. After all, I am a homo sapien with a very large brain and opposing thumb. How could anything go wrong?

What I did not understand is the nature of a herd (pack) of crias. Two crias are cute; three revert to pack behavior, resembling the famed alpacacriasaurus of pre-history. The alpacacriasaurus was a cute, fuzzy, little critter that traveled in packs, hunting down early bipedal hominids. These packs of alpacacriasaurus’s would frustrate the bipedal hominids to the point of self destruction, a clever and sinister strategy. Of course, like all predators, the alpacacriasaurus would seek out the old, weak and feeble which, regrettably, describes me. It did not help that the purpose of my visit to the paddocks was made clearly evident in that I arrived with a bathroom scale and bag full of paper work in my hands. I also had a piece of plywood to place on the ground, as the scale would have disappeared in the mud. I should have noticed that I was in trouble when the three crias suddenly grouped together for a meeting. The mommies stepped into the shelter, shoulder to shoulder, for a good view of the action to follow. I think they were laying down bets. Furthermore, I was dressed in a full body “poopy suite’” heavy coat, Elmer Fud hat and gloves, rendering me with less than half of the mobility left to me by old age. Let the games begin!

I did not need to weigh L’il King, as he had just been to the hospital for a second cast fitting and he weighed well over 30 lbs. Just grab him, message his umbilical opening (now resolving well) and take off his coat. L’il King gives a great imitation of Tiny Tim, the lovable little crippled kid in the Dickens “Christmas Carol.” L’il King looks pathetic in his full leg cast (needed due to a broken toe obtained while proving that he is “all boy”), limping along, looking for someone to club. As I sneak up behind him, he waits until the last second and them spins around, using his cast as a pivot point, and sprints (clump, clump, and clump) away at the handicap version of warp 9. After a ten minute chase, I cleverly block his path behind a shelter wall with a wheel barrow (that is my big brain kicking in) and I have him. Now, with the skill of a desperado fleeing on horseback, who shoots back at the pursuing posse, L’il King spins his head around to fire of a well placed spit. I, of course, am mouth breathing by this time and, yep, I get a full load right in the choppers. YUK!!!! This is the second time he has done this to me (note how fast we engineers learn) so I drop the shooter and head for a water bucket for a badly needed gargle. Our Great Pyres share the water buckets, so bucket water always has a neat coating of dog slobber. While all of this may sound pretty disgusting, I am here to tell you that dog slobber is VERY much tastier than alpaca spit. I bet that is a bit of epicurean information you will not hear on the Food Channel. The “slip and slide” chase starts anew and he is finally mine. He cleverly clubs me in the shins with his cast as I tend to his navel. One down, two to go.

Next comes Tequila Sunrise (Sunny) who is about to live up to her name, that is a sweet drink with a kick. So far, I have only slipped and fallen once, and experience is kicking in. This time I do have to get a weight, so the plywood and scale are set up. What fun, I must now weigh myself (just what I wanted to face up to) and then hold Sunny while I get a second weight. Sounds simple, eh? This time I block off on of the entrances to the shelter with the wheel barrow so I can trap Sunny and not play the slip and slide chase game. Sunny has saddled up to mommy for a snack and the time is right. I grab her by the cria coat (a much better grip that raw alpaca) and throw a leg lock to hold her while the cria coat is removed. So far, so good. Now, comes the lift. Uffda, she is heavy. I cradle her breast and rear in my arms with her legs and feet hanging down to below my waist. Sunny immediately starts to kick, actually sort of run-in-place, hard. Thud, thud, thud, direct hits on a very personal part of my body. I can not let go and must endure the painful indignity, with my voice slowly rising to a level that would qualify me as lead singer in the Vienna Boys Choir. I struggle to the scales and climb aboard, waiting for the scale to figure out what the total comes to. A number comes up that does not make sense. I feel a bump against my leg (Sunny is still kicking) and look down to see Niki, our female Great Pyre, standing on the scale! I start screaming (rather high pitched, I might ad) “no Niki, no Niki!” which only excites Sunny to more kicking. I must now get off the scale, wait for it to reset, and then get back on. Finally, I get a weight and let go of the chain saw cria, roll to the ground and recapture my engineering like composer. One more to go and this is a little one. What can go wrong?

Aurora, who is small and sweet, is in the shelter, next to her mommy. Piece of cake! I snatch her by the cria coat and the scampering begins. I manage to peel off the coat, but it flicks into the air just as she scoots out of reach. Suddenly, like an NFL football champ, Niki springs to life and grabs the cria coat before it can hit the ground. Now, one needs to know that Niki, as a puppy, once ate an entire fabric shelter in one night. She was board. I am not making this up. Niki is capable of boundless destruction if she sets her mind to it. I MUST save the cria coat. Niki has ducked through one of my three dog doors in my fences and has joined the boys for a chase and a romp, cria coat in tow. I charge after her, slipping and sliding on the ice. The chase goes on for about 10 minutes before I finally block her last escape and plead with Niki to give up her prize. Sensing that I am near death, Niki simply trots up and drops the coat into my hands. It was, after all, just a fun game. I stager back and re-corner Aurora in the shelter. This little one is quick and before I know what has happened, she has run towards the blocking wheel barrow at full speed and then, like a hall of fame baseball player on steroids (is that redundant?), she slide UNDER the wheel barrow for he escape. Another chase follows with her finally in my arms for the weigh in. Yep, her body weight has increased by almost 25%, right in keeping with the size of her cria coat that seems to have shrunk by 25%. Actually, Sue had estimated her weight gain within a few ounces, but now I had that all important evidence. I had only fallen two more times. Did I mention that the mommy’s were still lined up, laughing and pointing? They can do that, you know.

Putting the cria coats back on later also offered a fun filled, slip and slide adventure, but they seem to have proved their point and cooperated. The cria pack controlled their world and I would be allowed to participate in there lives only so long as I provided a good laugh.

By the way, Aurora now has the “got milk” look. In fact, she had so much milk rolling down her face and neck that I had to tidy her up. I wondered what had changed, so the next time she was nursing I got into the head down, butt up position to see what was going on. Actually, I think there is a law against that in Oklahoma. It turns out that she is trying to nurse with hay in her mouth. I guess this is the cria version of “cookies and milk.” She is getting quite good at it now.

So there you are. You asked!

Cheers,

Ed