An Afternoon with Louie

I had a most fun time yesterday.

I wanted to rope a young lama, Louie, who had never before been haltered, so I went to the paddock and set to work. I easily roped him and was allowed to set about putting on his halter. I then hooked a lead to his halter and removed the lasso from his neck. So far, so good.

Louie was not at all impressed with the liberties I had taken.

We wandered about for a while looking much like the fabled Pushme-Pullyou, him pulling one way while I pulled the other.

After about half an hour, I was able to let the lead slack and I thought we had come to an understanding.

Not so, oh naked ape.

He took off at a trot, my septuagenarian body trying to keep pace.

Eventually he chose to weave his way through our grape vines. A lama is superbly shaped for that kind of adventure. My shape, not so much.

I actually made it upright all the way through the grape vines, but then got my legs tangled up in an improperly stored rake. Down I went, head first into the still green grass. Fortunately there were no rocks, toys, or dog excrement in my way. All I got out of it was a broken pinky finger, a bruise to the temple, and a grass stain in my hair.

Unfortunately, I had landed close to one of those afore mentioned dog piles. When I stood up, I placed my right foot squarely upon a pile of low hurdle poop. (Dog poop smells better than dog fart, so I was lucky) Every detail of my work boot sole was crammed with aromatic brown stuff.

Another hour of “I’ll go, no I won’t go,” passed. I finally got him into a small paddock where he would be safe from the attacks of fully grown males.

It was 2:30, much earlier than my usual wrapping up time but, after various injuries to my pride and body, I felt it was time to call my lama wrangling day done.

Perhaps more halter lessons tomorrow.

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