Friday morning, Bob came back from checking on the alpacas and reported that Patagonia's Alameda was acting like she was going to give birth. Our three grandchildren, aged ten, nine and four were staying with us, so we positioned them at John's bedroom window for the show.
It took fifteen minutes for Alameda to produce a pure white cria: her fifth . Last year, John thought the new crias were dogs, but this year he calls her a lamb-and much like a lamb she is-sporting full fluffy fleece, a pink nose and eyelids.
Alpacas give birth standing up. The grandchildren were amazed when the new cria's head and front legs appeared. She was wiggling her ears and shaking her head as the herd followed Alameda in anticipation. For a quick moment, she laid down, then standing, she gathered her strength and dropped Alpaca Shack's Sokanon in a wet, muddy puddle.
John did his usual chores, but kept a close eye on the newcomer, as Alameda and the others cleaned their new member from head to toe. This year he was obviously an experienced alpaca owner.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Fire on the Hill!!!
Alpaca Shack is located at the top of Irish Hill here in Berne. We are surrounded by the woods. This has been an especially dry Spring in the Northeast, and we have had burn bans most of the month of May. It has been lifted in the last week.
Friday afternoon, our 78-year-old cousin, Ida Mae, burst into the living room shouting "Pam, you've got to call the Fire Department!" John and I were lettering some placards to hang out in the barn. I dropped the paint and immediately called 911. John did not display his usual fretting and sputtering but seemed frozen.
It wasn't until Ida Mae headed out to her car to flag down the fire trucks screaming up the hill that he reacted. He just wanted to close the door and go back to our work. He was not happy standing on the porch as we tried to access how the fire fighters were faring. He was biting his finger and swearing when the tanker came up the hill to turn around in our driveway. With a blow of the horn, the behavior disappeared and John focused on the firemen's voices over the hill. The concrete firetruck as both a distraction and fulfillment of all the vocabulary that John was trying to understand changed the panic response immediately.
The little fire in the pit that jumped to the lumber pile and spread to the trees was extinquished by our wonderful volunteer firemen. We were beyond thankful.
Friday afternoon, our 78-year-old cousin, Ida Mae, burst into the living room shouting "Pam, you've got to call the Fire Department!" John and I were lettering some placards to hang out in the barn. I dropped the paint and immediately called 911. John did not display his usual fretting and sputtering but seemed frozen.
It wasn't until Ida Mae headed out to her car to flag down the fire trucks screaming up the hill that he reacted. He just wanted to close the door and go back to our work. He was not happy standing on the porch as we tried to access how the fire fighters were faring. He was biting his finger and swearing when the tanker came up the hill to turn around in our driveway. With a blow of the horn, the behavior disappeared and John focused on the firemen's voices over the hill. The concrete firetruck as both a distraction and fulfillment of all the vocabulary that John was trying to understand changed the panic response immediately.
The little fire in the pit that jumped to the lumber pile and spread to the trees was extinquished by our wonderful volunteer firemen. We were beyond thankful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
