If you read the most recent post, you know I broke my left arm. It's not in a sling anymore, but it isn't exactly useable yet either; just sort of dangles there. Letting it is more for my left hand to feel more included, you know so the right hand doesn't develop "oldest child" syndrome and does everything for the left. Anyway, picture this. It's another beautiful day at Windy Knob Farms, and I'm out trying to feed the lambs by hand. I take a little treat grain out there and wait patiently for the lambs to muster up enough courage to eat from my hand. I am sitting on the edge of the water trough, which leaves me about an inch wide rim to balance and teeter on to begin with. I have a lame arm on the left, grain in my right; the grain bucket is tucked away between my feet (preventing any cheaters who want to take out the middle guy and eat from the bucket).Now before you start laughing and thinking I fell in the water trough, Ill save you the disappointment. I didn't. No, that would have been too simple. A few choice words, scattered chubby lambs stealing grain and running, some splashing, a change of clothes and we'd be on with it.
No. This is worse.
Martha was the first. Martha is this beautiful black and gray Ewe lamb that mustered up the courage to get close enough and take some grain from my hand. It's really something, watching her eyes like big marbles steadfast on my every move. She extends that upper lamb lip in an effort to shuffle the grain to her mouth; using every ounce of hunger to outweigh the rationale that she shouldnt be eating from the big bad scary guy.
Success. She ate! And ate... and ate some more. Soon enough her brother Rutherford, then Chester... Then it was absolute free for all. All the lambs were crowding space, pushing, shoving, eating, engulfing my handfuls of food faster than I could restock the supply. This was cute for me, but annoying to Drogo the llama.
Chester and his gang.
Drogo knows the drill. Farmer comes with a shiny pail... that means grain is coming. And for the past two months it was the drogo show because the lambs didnt want the grain, and this left some one on one time for the llama.
And here we are. I'm peculiarly balanced on this water trough, lame left arm, grain at my feet, right hand feeding grain. Drogo over my left shoulder, lambs pushing and shoving, and into drogo. At this moment is where time slows down and voices go into a deep bass sound that reverberates within your skin. The lambs were pushing drogo out of the picture, so much in fact he started his warning signs. First the ears were pinned back, then the clicking, followed by the the squealing and you know its coming, yes the spit. Drogo hauled off and hocked a spit wad at the lambs collected around us. I didn't take a direct hit, but I did feel the after spray. The lambs didn't seem that surprised, somehow I bet this wasn't there first spit attack. But I on the other hand was so taken a back that Drogo would disrupt our moment.
I was angry, and yes we are still in slow motion right now. I couldn't push Drogo back with my left arm, I couldnt even abandon the grain in my right to turn and push him away (then I would have ended up in the water trough). I can't say I even thought about what I was about to do next. It's not one of my prouder moments. Pure chaos for those spilit seconds, and I felt robbed of the success that Marta and I had accomplished, and unfortunately my anger took over. I didn't know what else I could do to express my frustration with Drogo. Yes people. I did.
I spit back dang it! I told you, I dont know what I was thinking, I was upset, the little kid in me reacted before I could think, and spitting back was was all I could do. I hauled off and spit back at Drogo.
And I will never do it again.
Drogo's reaction brought out the most sincere level of apology I could have had. His ears kind of just fell flat against his skull. His eyelids seemed to droop just a little. His body language took on an appeareance of defeat, like it was the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to him. The worst was his facial expression. His top lip seemed to arch like Elvis and quiver all at the same time. If llama's cry, he surely was at this point.
He slowly walked away, leaving me feeling guilty. How could I? Even the lambs were like Dude, that was just wrong.I got up and grabbed the bucket behind my feet and lopsidedly shuffled towards him to offer my olive branch of undividied attention and grain. But Drogo wasn't having it. He just trotted away to match my speed, keeping the "Im not forgiving you distance" between us. His lips still arched in disgust he just looked at me from the back of the pasture; and from his facial expression all I could read from him was "I thought we were friends."
Ugh. I felt terrible. I spit at my own llama. And for llamas that must just be the end all be all.
Lesson learned. We have since made up. Like 10 minutes after that. Some special grain, a few I'm sorrys. And time goes on. But I wish I could just sort out the neurons that fired, making the decision to spit back at Drogo. I just can't comprehend that. Note to self: Hey rookie farmer, spitting is a bad idea.
