Camelid Wrath

Early this afternoon I entered the stall shared by the female alpacas, Vann and Goldie Rose, and Goldie’s son, Spencer. Checking their water bucket, I saw the level was low, so I flipped up the bucket’s handle—the bucket sits in a milk crate rather than hanging by its own handle—and turned to their feed tub with the intention of grabbing the bucket on my way out in a few moments. Hardly had I turned my back than I heard the rattle and bang of the bucket being yanked from its holder and turned to find that little Spencer had stuck his head into the bucket and gotten it hung on his long neck. He was leaping and bucking around the stall for several seconds before he managed to shed the bucket.

Bucket shed, fleece wet, he stood looking stunned. I pulled him to me—he’s very gentle and encourages human contact—to apologize and reassure. At this point Goldie screeched, glared at me, and spat. It took me a moment for me to understand that she blamed me for her cria’s misadventure and continued to see me as a threat. During that moment she spat into my face two or three times more. The glare in her eye only intensified as I failed to vanish from her presence, so I grabbed the bucket, held it up as a sort of shield and headed for the inner stall door, but Goldie blocked the path. I was forced to turn to the other exit, unclip the “screen door” (a piece of cattle panel I clip in front of stalls on hot days to allow better air circulation), and escape that way.

Before I got out, Goldie got me at least two more times and spat into the bucket several times. When I was clear, I looked into the bucket to find masses of grainy green ooze (undigested hay, grain, and grass, I presume) splattered over the surface. I felt thankful that I had spared my face and clothing from the full brunt of her attack.

As I exited the pasture, I noticed that Heidi was on full alert: barking wildly and racing back and forth. She had heard the momma ‘paca shriek and leapt to the rescue. As pleased as I was by her protective behavior, it took a bit to convince her that I had been the problem and that everything was now okay. After all, workmen continued to walk past the barn toting wood and tools to the shop construction site, and one of the men was one that had not been here for some months. I had to convince her that he was not a threat.

He later confirmed my suspicions that Heidi had singled him out when he told me how she had rushed directly for him, barking ferociously. This was problematic because I needed him to stay on the job but could not contain Heidi without denying her access to her litter. He did stay on the job; however, I imagine he may think twice before accepting the offer of another day’s work here anytime soon.

On the bright side, once Heidi had returned to her usual watchful state, she came to me for some extended petting. In the past few weeks her suspicious distancing of herself from me has all but vanished and it’s gratifying to see her seeking out and accepting affection. She is a very sweet dog—who knows her job well and must have had a horrendous experience with humans in the past. Poor girl.

Post Script: After spitting, camelids keep their upper lips curled up and/or their mouths open for a time—as if the foul stuff they spit offends even them and mouth-breathing has become preferable to actually inhaling scents.

P.P.S. Although the photo does illustrate Goldie and Spencer in their stall, it was not taken until late July by which time the puppies were as large as shown in the photo.