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Sparkles, the llama
Years ago when my two sons wrote out their Christmas lists, I retaliated with one of my own which I thought contained some of the far-fetched items on their lists. One was a llama. Better be careful what you ask for, because as a birthday present 7 years ago I got a baby llama. He was purchased by a friend and paid for before he was even born. At three months we went to Indiana and brought him home in a van. I could pick him up then. He was not so expensive, that pricey llama is bound to be a female appaloosa worth maybe $10,000. They are groomed and are beautiful. My llama was never groomed; he was the rough type living in the edge of the woods. The name given him was Sparkles. His eyes were large and flashy. His eyelashes were long and curled. He was a tri-color and he made a hit in Garfield on the first morning he arrived. At first he lived in a pen under my carport which then was on the side and near the front of the house. It just happened that the trip to Indiana to get the llama ended back in Garfield just hours before the annual visit by the Twin City Elementary second grades. Out of a deep sleep I heard children and looked out my window to see dozens of them looking at baby Sparkles. They have returned each year and he always enjoyed the children. He did not always like all adults. There were many questions: what does he eat; why do you have him; what does he do. He lived his life in a large shaded pen along with his companion, Misty. Misty is a female Great Pyrenees. Whenever she would escape, he would have a fit. Llamas do not bark, but they make very interesting sounds to let you know what is going on. Fortunately he escaped only twice and that was enough. He went flying down Hwy 23 past Johnson's Package Shop before he was captured. News spread when he arrived. The first news out was that Jack had a giraffe. Now locals know that a llama is from the Andes area of South America (they are kept in all of our states). They are pack animals with padded feet to be sure on steep mountain trails. They also can be clipped for their hair which makes felt. But for me he was pure therapy. His ears told a story of something coming or going. He would show his teeth at times (probably frustrated that his owner did not give him the dog bones he wished for). But most of all he would rub his soft lips on my face, a gesture of love and loyalty. Did I forget to mention his bad habit? Like most of us humans, he too had a flaw. He could and would spit at you when he was not happy. I learned to watch and when he started chewing motions with his mouth, I would stand back. He could spit a long way and with power. It was not like human spit; it was grainy and smelled. Misty had one litter of puppies and I know Sparkles thought he was the dad. He stepped ever so carefully around the little pups and he enjoyed them as much as the rest of us. One day recently I came home to check on the animals. He was lying down as he often did. I called him and he did not move. When I got closer I saw that he had collapsed on his knees and his long neck lay against his body. I knew he was dead and I had a good cry. I had always expected him to outlive me. They often live to be 35. I wondered what had happened. He had plenty of food and water. He had never been sick. He had lived through much hotter weather. Was it foul play? It could have been lightning (there was a very bad storm in Garfield that day with lots of lightening). My cousin, Donald, used his Bobcat to dig a deep hole and bury him for me.--Jack Atkinson is our guest columnist and a resident of Garfield.
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