Llama Llama, how's your Mama?

To begin my Llama story, I must set the scene. In college those of us in choir would forfeit our spring break to go on tour to  Cumberland Presbyterian churches throughout the Midwest and South. Each year we went a different direction. This year was 1999. The location was just outside Houston, Texas.

While on tour we couldn't afford hotel rooms for all the choristers, so we stayed with members of the churches where we performed. This led to some interesting sleeping arrangements, and some creepy dinner conversations!

Anyway, on this particular evening we were in Houston, and there was a church member, Chet, who said he could house 6 ladies. Not as lecherous as it sounds, one of the ladies in the choir grew up with him, and he had a HUGE house! He also had a ranch, with all kinds of neat animals, including pygmy goats, horses, a kangaroo named Cassidy, and a Llama. Not just any llama, an abused llama!

Apparently the llama belonged to a friend of Chet's, and the rotten neighbor boys would throw rocks at the poor llama. Thus, the llama has developed a fear of humans, but Chet said we'd be fine as long as we didn't look the llama in the eye.

After we finished petting the goats, trying to get the kangaroo to come close enough to touch, and riding horses (Valiente, as I recall) we were leaving the corral. I felt hot breath on the back of my neck and someone yelled "Huffy! Don't move!" Well, nothing makes you want to run like the dickens as much as someone telling you not to move. Slowly I turned my head. It was the llama. We had been ignoring him (maybe her, I just assumed a deranged llama was male) all night, and now he (or she) was ready for revenge.

I began tip-toeing my way back to the gate, being extra careful not to look back and especially not look the llama in the eye. Just as I got halfway to the gate, the llama lunges forward and catches me just behind my right ear. I scream and run for the gate. Another choir member who was also in the corral just froze. The llama then went to her and grabbed a mouthful of her hair. Somewhere there is a picture of the llama with long, blond hair hanging from its mouth.

I made it through the gate, but yet another choir member, who was nice enough to open the gate for me so I didn't have to jump it like an Olympic High-jumper ( and I think I just might have, if necessary) was on the receiving end of a classic llama "raspberry." Be careful, they spit!

I don't have a scar or any nightmares about ravenous llamas, but I sure don't trust them either. It's just a nice story that few folks can share. I've yet to find another survivor of a llama attack. If you know of a support group, be sure to give them my name!