So you know when you’re just walking into a barn and your husband calls and you look up and say, “Hey, I gotta go” and he keeps talking and this thing in front of you has those weird scary bottom fangy teeth sticking out and its ears are back
and the small child at your feet, who just yesterday was SO HAPPY when you took him to the cookie bakery after school
is starting to whimper, and you’re feeling a little nervous, too, because Fangy Ears-Back Llama-creature is coming at you
and the farmer walks by and says, “Oh, she’s fine, don’t worry, her name’s Belle,” and keeps walking
and it gets closer and you say into your phone, “LOOK, I HAVE A LLAMA SITUATION, I HAVE TO GO”
(why is he still talking, why does he not understand, I’M HANGING UP NOW)
and you hang up and pick up the whimpering child and agree, when the child says he’s a little scared of the llama, that this is not the friendliest-looking animal you’ve encountered together
and you remember that every other time you’ve been here, the other farmhands have said to stay back from the llama, just give her some space
and outside the barn, away from those freaky teeth and flared-back ears
you ask the farmer about the llama. She’s very friendly, apparently, and likes kids, but she hates hands and hates being petted and hates being touched anywhere near her head and doesn’t like hands at all or anyone reaching for her and no, yeah, she likes chldren but do not reach for her or put your hands out or try to touch her
(ok, so, that would have been nice to know)
But her name is Belle and she’s 25, really old for a llama, the youngest of 13 siblings, and her bottom teeth stick out to help her scrape bark from trees. And though she is free-range, she never crosses the road.
Small child and I bid her farewell and then I let him pick out almost anything he wanted at the farm store, which amounted to asparagus and celery, because I said no to the $7/pint blueberries.
And that was our Saturday morning llama situation.