Ask God For an Alpaca, and He Might Give You a Herd

One hot summer afternoon, I casually walked up behind Sassy, our matriarchal alpaca, grabbed her long neck, and held on tight as she twisted to get out of my grip. Despite her maneuverings, which included pulling me alongside her for a few steps, I refused to let go.

She quit fighting me and resorted to another of her infamous tricks—spitting.

Regurgitated spitting.

Have you ever smelled alpaca spit?

Believe me, you do not want that sour grassy odor or bits of regurgitated stuff in your hair or on your clothes.

With my arms wrapped around Sassy’s neck, I bent my head against the back of hers, and prayed she wouldn’t get me.  The rest of the nosy herd crowded behind us.

My sister injected a vitamin B shot beneath Sassy’s fiber-covered skin, then grasped her jaw and stuck a syringe of probiotics in her mouth. The dosage slid down Sassy’s throat, and I immediately backed away.

Gathering her dignity and blowing air through her nostrils, Sassy sauntered off.

I caught my breath as I watched her go and reveled in a chest-puffing sense of accomplishment. Once again, we’d practiced alpaca husbandry through sheer grit and determination.

The “doctorin’” done, I turned on the hose. The alpacas, even Sassy, gathered around so I could spray their legs. In hot weather, they love the coolness of the water, and the littlest ones like to lie in the mud.

Caring for these graceful, curious, and skittish animals is part of my daily routine. All because of a pipe dream that somehow came true.

You see, I wanted an alpaca for a very long time. But getting one didn’t seem likely since I lived in a Florida subdivision that limited pets to two dogs or cats. Life took a strange turn, though, and now I’m living on a four-acre farm near Memphis with three dogs, several cats, and a herd of alpacas.

Because when it comes to alpacas, like Lay’s potato chips, you can’t have just one.

Alpacas are herd animals; without a buddy, they become lonely and depressed. Even within the herd, they seem to form friendships.

Sassy enjoys Autumn’s company and, surprisingly, Autumn sometimes nurses Sassy’s baby. Charro and Shelby have a love/hate relationship—often together, but often spitting at each other, too. The three juveniles, who are close to the same age, usually hang out together.

Then there’s Merry, our brown and white charity case. She’d been living with goats until she moved in with us. Her early deprivation shows in her pushiness at feeding time. Though an accepted member of the herd, she’s content to wander alone and is the most wary of the group.

Each one has a distinct personality.

Since starting this venture, I’ve learned a great deal about alpacas, and I’ve done things I never dreamed I’d do.

I carry bales of hay and bags of feed. I know how to shoo any wanderers home again. More than once, I’ve rescued Autumn after she got her head stuck in the fence.

When Merry had an ear infection, I single-handedly put drops in her ear for several days. I’ve stood by as the vet neutered two of our males right there in the pasture. And I’ve bagged fiber (alpaca fleece) as Joe and Austin, traveling shearers from North Carolina, did their thing.

Several months ago, I missed seeing Sassy give birth by only a few minutes. But I was there to dry the baby’s skin and witness her first clumsy steps.

I considered owning an alpaca a pipe dream.

But God made the dream a reality.

It’s tempting to close with that old warning, be careful what you wish for. [Tweet “God enjoys making pipe dreams come true.”]

Except I’m glad I wished for an alpaca.

And I’m thankful that God, in his generosity, gave me a herd.

Johnnie Alexander writes historical and contemporary romances. She is the author of the novels Where Treasure Hides and Where She Belongs. Johnnie treasures family memories, classic movies, road trips, and stacks of books. Her home is near Memphis with Rugby, a princely papillon known for treeing raccoons, and a herd of alpaca. She blogs at johnnie-alexander.com.