Pacas

Deep down inside, I'm a bleeding heart. I think, honestly, most of us are, to an extent. I know Ted is too. There's a reason his farm is such a hodge-podge of critters; from ponies kids have outgrown, to monkeys that have outlasted too many owners.

If there's one thing that makes my heart bleed, it's big eyes and an empty stomach.

Which would be how we ended up with two alpacas. Right before Christmas, dropped off at the auction, and, really, what were we supposed to do? No one else wanted them. No one else put up a half-assed bid like we did.

We have llamas because alpacas are useless... right? Glorified sheep. Twice the price and half as smart.

Someone asked me if I felt like I was "cheating" on our llamas by "harboring the enemy" and I don't. Not in the least. It's the bleeding heart in me. I may not love alpacas as much as I love my llamas, but I hate the idea of starving animals much more than I hate any breed.

It's a mother and son. She's about three or four years old, and he'll probably be one sometime this spring.

Her name is Carol. As in, "Christmas Carol," because she found a good home right before Christmas, and she just simply is a Carol. She's shy, of course, but absurdly trusting. Eats like a hoover vacuum, and has finally stopped letting the boy nurse. She is beautiful, in a snooty persian cat sort of way. Solid white fleece, clear blue eyes, and what looks like thick black eyeliner around both her eyes. If she were a teenage girl she'd be a heartbreaker.

She's not halter-broken at all. She doesn't mind me putting one on her, but has no idea what it's for. The walk from the yard into the barn the day we got them was the longest walk I think I've ever taken. She hasn't been trained for ANYTHING, and she has such a long way to go. She isn't a huge fan of coming out of her stall, and if it's anywhere near dinnertime you can find her laying down in the barn patiently waiting.

Nicholas (named after the famous Saint, of course) can't stand to be penned up. He whines constantly to get out, and buddies up to Ruby once he is. He's dwarfed by Emerald- his back is almost low enough to pass completely under Emerald's belly. He doesn't understand he's not really one of the herd yet.

He should have been sheared last summer, so his fleece is thicker than anything I've ever seen- or touched. I had to trim some of it away under his tail just so he could go to the bathroom without anything getting stuck in it. He looks so fat and chubby, but underneath the fur all you can feel is bones.

My bleeding heart just can't stand that...

Jack

I don't have any pictures of Jack when we first got him. This disappoints me, and is one of the few regrets I really have. I use it as a reminder to take pictures of EVERYTHING- beautiful or not.

Jack was ugly. Hideous. Disgusting. He was an emaciated excuse of a bull, standing barely at my hip, with horns and ears grown all akimbo. I laughed at him- which I don't think he remembers- and scoffed at Ted. "Why'd you go and pay money for the ugliest cow on the planet?"

It wasn't very much money.

Jack is nothing short of handsome.

Ted shrugged at my comment and told me to give him something to eat. He needed it.

It took a long time for Jack to grow into himself. Ted wanted to name him Fu- like Fu Manchu- from some song or another. I named him Jack.

Jack Sprat could eat no fat

His wife could eat no lean

And so together, hand-in-hand,

They licked the platter clean.

The girls all agreed, Jack stuck, and Kiki just kept getting fatter- and not with a baby. He was a dingy gray all over, and frightened of everything. The people he came from claimed he was in a field with some heifers, and insisted he bred them, but we doubt it. He was so thin we're sure his body naturally steered itself- looking for any nutrients it could. We love him anyway.

Jack doesn't moo. Ever. He huffs. If there's anything he feels warrants a moo, he headbutts and pushes on Kiki until she moos for him. He likes people on his level, and won't come up to an adult standing tall at the fence. His love for children is baffling, but they always seem to love him in return, regardless of the menacing horns and sneaky glint in his eyes.

I came back from vacation, and while my llama loves me, Jack was the only one who seemed to visibly miss me. Cleaning his stall, and he didn't want to run wild with Kiki and chase the llamas. He wanted to stand beside me, nuzzle me, and lick at me. Lick at my leg, lick my shoe, wait till I crouch down and lick his rough sandpaper tongue across my cheek.

When Jack finally gained enough weight to not be considered starving, he changed. He came out of his shell, he developed a personality. It took almost three years, but he noticed that he was getting two meals a day, without doubt. He bloomed from a washed-out gray to black and silver. His fur thickened and feels like crushed velvet. He loves having his hump rubbed, and behind his horns scratched.

He's the most handsome bull I've ever know.