My Dad got beat up by our llama

You may think this title is hyperbole just to attract your attention, but I assure you, it is not.



We really do have a llama. His name is Maximus Desimus Meridius, Defender of Man and Beast. He is the protector of my brother's goat herd. Turns out llamas are very protective of their herd when they are raised with them from the time they are young, which is what we did with Max. And as a bonus, and unlike guard dogs, they eat the same things as the goats so you don't have to make extra trips with special food for them.

My brother got him after we'd had some trouble with someone cutting our fence in the middle of the night and some of the goats went missing. His ex-fiance's uncle had caught three wild pigs on his property so my brother traded the three little pigs to the local animal dealer for the llama.

And so we acquired Max.



He is a funny thing. He has no sense of personal space. He will come right up into your face and make wierd snorting noise and like to smell your breath. He is very curious and sweet and soft. He is very agile and runs like a deer. When my horse was alive, he used to like to race us up and down the fence line.

He's quite the novelty on our street. There have been several subdivisions going up around our property so the newbies loves the goats and chickens and horses, and espcially Max. Whenever they have visitors from out of town, he is a great stop on their walking tour of the neighborhood.



And my dad has always been Max's favorite. He will come right up to Dad and sniff him and Dad pets him and spoils him...and "calls him George." (just kidding on that last part--some sort of temporary flash back to some cartoon take off on that "Of Mice and Men") Whenever we need to catch Max to do anything with him, Dad is always the one who can do it. Usually the only one who can do it.

These past couple weeks, our fences have been down and Maxe and the goats have been getting out on what sounds like a regular basis.

Yesterday Max got out and was frolicking all over the neighborhood having a grand ol' time, according to my Dad. Alas, however, all good things must come to and end and he had to be caught. We live uncomfortable close to the freeway, which is always a worry when any of the animals get out.

So, Dad was the logical one to try to catch him. After spending some time chasing him around, he finally got him cornered in some sort of alley area and somehow got a rope around him. But the rope slipped too low and was around his belly and seemed to be hurting him because he went pretty crazy.

Dad said he was butting him with his neck and chest butting him. And that he's very strong. Plus he was making these loud awful prehistoric noises and biting him (even broke the skin in a couple places and gave him a few huge black bruises). And he was spitting green goop all over him.

The neighbors watched in somewhat terrified awe and were too afraid to offer to help. Once the spetacle was over, one of them would bring over stuff he found on the internet about how to cook a llama.

Dad finally got the rope off of him and Max was mad and scared and pouted the rest of the day. I think he's still afraid and traumatized today. And Dad has huge bruises to show for it. Poor Dad. Poor Max. Hopefully they will make up.