Morning Thanks--The Alton llama

I don't know why they get an extra l, but they do--and, well, I think they earn it quite frankly. I'm told gelding llamas are the ones most committed to mission, or were thought to be until unbred females were put to the test--with great success. All the way around, the unattached or attach-able, are just plain less randy, I guess. 

Not every llama is wired for guardianship it seems, but those who are become beloved to the flock, like this one, on watch, so to speak. It's somehow rich to think of these noble beasts as eunuchs and spinsters, the chosen few.

Even though some few dead-as-a-door-nail coyotes would, if they could, disagree, generally, the book says, llamas are not killers. They've been blessed with a variety of defensive weapons capable of keeping fox or coyotes at bay. They spit--for one thing, a behavior that must be as repulsive to predators as it is to humans. Their number one weapon however, or so people say, is not their hooves or their bite but the screeching they emit when at their protective best, a double-barreled weapon that shoos coyotes away and keeps sheep on their toes (well, hooves).

For the record, guanacos and alpacas--all South American--may apply for an opening because they too have proved themselves useful, even invaluable, in the pasture, where, like their llama cousins, their not just hired guns. Sweet llamas--and there are many--really love their flocks and bond better, in fact, if they get acquainted with moms-to-be before the kids arrive. Look at that picture--the only quadruped on watch is the llama, the rest of the gang is buried in emerald, belly-deep pasture. 

I'd suppose most people would drive right by, but if you're just south of Alton and your name means "sheep," you can't help but love this gracious godfather or mother, a warm-hearted shepherd who, true to the genes, is keeping watch over the flock by night--well, evening anyway.

Long, long ago, I had an English prof who couldn't get through a swimming scene in a short story or novel without claiming what we were really reading was a symbolic baptism. More to the point, the guy--we loved him, by the way--wanted to call just about any giving character a Christ-figure. As you have likely observed, I've been aching to do that; but then, as I told you, my name is Schaap, which has to be at least part of the reason I found this good-shepherd scene so sweet.

And why, this morning, my morning thanks are for this guy--or girl. The Creator of Heaven and Earth sometimes does things with nature I'd rather he wouldn't--three backyard floods in the last year. 

But you just can't help taking special note of the righteousness of a good guard llama like this one, just on the other side of town, who I might just call a savior at least. If all these woolly guys were my sheep, I dare says I'd quite easily go that far.