Fight For Your Dream (10 page)

Finding Marty and Georgie

I think the consensus of opinion within my family was one of astonishment when I told them about my llama idea. I'm sure thoughts of ‘unstable' and ‘well, it must be because of the shock', must have been considered by them at some stage. After all, it's not everyone who would choose to buy a llama. Let's just say, ‘It's not the norm, is it?' But then, I'm not the norm! Anyhow, no matter what they thought or said, they went along with me and gave me their support, as they have always done.

Whilst researching the needs and requirements of llamas, I came across another member of the camelid family, who looked just as drop dead gorgeous as the llama.

Enter, Alpaca!

Slightly smaller in height and build, alpacas are very similar to their relatives (llamas), but they have a much denser, and finer fleece. Llamas have much more coarse fibre which is guard hair (rougher). Hence llama fibre is lower quality than alpaca fibre, but both animals are equally gorgeous.

During the research process, I discovered that llamas and alpacas are herd animals and therefore cannot live alone, but the day to day husbandry and care required is the same for both; likewise the feeding and dietary requirements.

Okay, okay, now one makes two does it? Oh well, I'm sure Nigel will go with that... I hoped! Sure enough, I was reluctantly given the nod. Decision made, it was to be one llama and one alpaca, purely because I'd fallen in love with them both!

After talking to endless alpaca and llama breeders over the following few days, I eventually felt confident enough to choose the two breeders who I wanted to purchase my animals from. The llama breeder was based in Ascot, very near to the horse racing track, and the alpaca breeder was based near Reading, just inside Oxfordshire. I'd made arrangements for Nigel and me to travel down the following weekend, to take a look at the animals that were available for sale. Nigel had suggested that we should stay overnight in a hotel, so we could visit each breeder for a day, to enable us to take time looking at the animals; so we would be equipped to make the right decision. It would also be time out for the two of us to relax and make a nice weekend of it. It had seemed such a long time since I'd had something nice to think about, and it felt good.

Our first port of call was Ascot, where the llama farm was. A larger-than-life american lady greeted us with a huge smile, and took us towards the field where some llamas were grazing. Her farm/country residence was a beautiful place. She was a keen horsewoman, and she proudly introduced me to her trusty steed. He was a lovely boy, a dark bay warmblood, with a stunning head. I asked her how old he was. He was a seven-year-old that she had brought on from a youngster, and was now eventing him. I felt a tinge of envy, as I had always dreamed of one day owning my own horse, and I thought how lucky she was to have so much. She owned several horses that had been with her many years, but she said she couldn't bear to sell them on, as they were part of her family now, and they would remain with her the rest of their lives. At that time, I didn't have the passion for animals that I have now, but I now get what she meant, because I too have that love and passion for my four legged friends.

The field where the llamas were kept opened on to several larger paddocks, with different groups of llamas in them. She explained that all her ‘girls and boys' ran separately, only coming together when it was mating time. Alpacas and llamas are unusual animals, in that they are induced ovulators. This means that it's specifically the act of copulation that stimulates the release of an egg follicle; therefore they can become pregnant any time of the year, and they don't have a season like sheep and other animals do. I was now beginning to realise that I had a great deal to learn but, on the flip side of the coin, that was not a bad thing, as my mind would be occupied with something other than chemo.

It was a bitterly cold day, but crisp and dry with sunshine making the occasional appearance. The group that we were interested in were the boys that had just been weaned. Normally, at the age of six months, mum and baby (dam and cria) are separated for the weaning process. Depending on the size and weight of the cria, this can also be done at five months of age. Sometimes, mum will self wean, and kick off her baby when she feels it's the right time. What you need to know here is, that because their gestation period is fifty weeks, most dams are pregnant again for the following season. As a result, they are using up a lot of energy (calories) feeding the new foetus and themselves, and generally trying to keep warm, so the sooner their cria become self sufficient, the better it is for them. However, some dams are very generous and will keep feeding their cria until us humans intervene. As we wandered through the field looking at all the different llamas available, I noticed the shadow of something moving inside a field shelter. As I peered around the opening, another face was looking back at me. Big, round, brown eyes stared into mine. Oh, those eyelashes, long, dark and luscious, absolutely drop-dead gorgeous: this was my first encounter with Marty, who would soon become my own. He stood proud and confident, and gave out a little hum as I stepped forward towards him. He backed further into the corner of the shelter, and this time gave out a little snort as if to say, ‘Okay, that's close enough.' I stepped back, not wanting to unnerve him, as he lifted his head into the air. He looked arrogant, and turned his head sideways on to me, as though acknowledging his prowess and stature.

From that moment on I was smitten. I wanted him. Wow: what an unbelievable creature! In those final few moments of meeting him, something had passed between us in mutual respect.

Now, on the other hand, ‘Georgie' was completely different. Right from the very first time I set eyes on him he was needy. He stuck very close to his mum and continually hummed to her, and she reciprocated, to reassure him that he was okay. He was just one great bundle of dark brown fluff with a little black face, nose and big eyes somewhere in the middle of all the fluff. His little spear-shaped black ears pointed out just above his topknot (the mass of heaped, wavy fibre on an alpaca's head). He was so very different from Marty, but I new instantly he was the one for me. ‘What do you think? He's so sweet and pretty,' I said, as I looked at Nigel for his agreement. ‘It's your choice, love, it's entirely up to you.' They say opposites attract and, over the weeks and months to come, Marty and Georgie became really good for each other, and for me. They became my soul mates.

New Lease of Life

I knew I'd always been searching for something. I just didn't know what that something was. There was a part of my being that wasn't complete and content.

I desperately loved Nigel, I had a fantastic family who had been so supportive throughout the depression and OCD; what more did I want or need? Something was just eluding me, and I felt unable to find the final piece of the jigsaw. I didn't know whether I would ever find that something, because I didn't know what I was searching for. I just had this overwhelming feeling of being incomplete. To this day I still find it sad, that I never felt I fulfilled my dad's dream of becoming an Olympian. It's sad, because I do believe that I had the talent and ability and I know many other people in the athletic fraternity believed that as well. The problem was me! I mean, inside me! To be the best you have to want it so, so badly. I did want the success, but I wanted the success for someone else, and that someone was ‘my dad'. I'm sure that everyone involved in top class athletics will tell you that you need to want it for yourself. That was my failing; I didn't, and my heart wanted the success for dad. Again, I still believe that my dad was robbed of an Olympic medal all those years ago, and I so much wanted to give him that medal back through my achievements. Dad deserved that, and as long as I live I will always be saddened that I was unable to do that for my dad.

What I do hope is that, over the past sixteen years, dad can be proud of what I have achieved in a far different sphere from sport and, by that, I mean ‘Mayfield Alpacas'!

When Georgie and Marty came into my life, I was given ‘a new lease of life'.

I didn't realise at the time that this was the elusive piece of the jigsaw. The ‘something' I'd been searching for was at the tip of my fingers and boy was I about to grab it!

We had to wait several long weeks before we could take delivery of Marty and Georgie, due to the fact that they were not old enough to be weaned from their dams (mums) when we initially chose them. We also had to get the timing right to ensure that we had their correct housing in position for welcoming them into their new home. Both alpacas and llamas can cope with temperatures as low as minus fifteen if the weather remains dry, but due to the lack of lanolin in their fibre they cannot cope with prolonged wet conditions and low temperatures, as they are not waterproof like sheep and ducks are, and so they cannot shed the water. The rain could chill through to their bodies and cause them to shiver, hence the need for shelter in wet conditions. However, they are very hardy creatures and have learned to survive high in the Andes on the barren ‘Antiplano' on a very sparse low protein diet. They are very intelligent creatures and quite resilient, contrary to what people may think.

At last, the day finally arrived when we were able to collect them. Again we booked into a hotel the previous night near to where our first pick-up was, so we could get an early start the following day. It would be a long one, and Nigel wanted to make sure that we could drive back up north to Bassett and arrive to unload the animals in daylight. Also, I had just started my chemotherapy and it was proving difficult, making me feel rather sleepy and unwell at times. Nigel didn't want anything to spoil my enjoyment on collecting them, as for the first time in a long time I had become exited and focused about their arrival. Ascot, and Marty was our first pick up. We arrived early at ‘Ordellamas', the lady breeder was called Ordell, an American name by all accounts. To our amusement we arrived just in time to see Ordell trotting round the ménage on one of her, no, not horses...llamas! Yes, that's right, no joke, although it did look like something out of a scene from a comedy sketch at the time!

Ordell is a slight lady, like me, and Isaac (stud male) was a big guy, very large, tall and stocky and quite capable of carrying Ordell's slight frame. It's just not what you expect to see being ridden round a ménage, is it? Horse, yes: llama, no!

To my surprise, Marty loaded into the trailer really well. He was a little concerned about being alone, but not really as upset as I had expected: so far, so good. Ordell and I gave each other a hug. Over the past weeks we had talked a great deal over the phone and seemed to get on very well. I liked her a lot. Nigel had briefly explained to Ordell about my illness and the start of chemo. I think Nigel was concerned that I was taking too much on, bearing in mind what I had ahead of me, and he just looked to Ordell for some sort of reassurance. Looking back now, I realise that I was at a very vulnerable stage in my treatment. Nigel knew that and, to be fair, I think Ordell did too. The one resounding piece of advice she gave me was, ‘Just remember, Elaine, I know he's cuddly, but he's also a llama. Don't forget to treat him like one.' Little did I envisage how that advice would come back to haunt me fourteen months later but, at the time, as far as I was concerned, this was just the tonic that I needed and I couldn't get enough of it.

New Arrivals

Once again, Georgie proved to be the needy one. It wasn't difficult to load him into the trailer, because Nigel just picked him up and placed him inside with Marty. It was when we got him in the trailer that the problems started. It appeared that Georgie had not really been separated from his dam (mum) for very long and was still finding the transition to being on his own difficult. In hindsight it must have been quite traumatic for the poor little fellow. Sixteen years on, I certainly would not allow a young weanling to leave my farm, unless it had been weaned from mum for several weeks. The weaning process can be very stressful for both mum and cria, and at times of stress weanlings can be very susceptible to ill health due to their immune system becoming compromised. Therefore, I prefer this process to be achieved over several weeks. This allows me to monitor both weanling and dam for any signs of ill thrift, (i.e. separation from the group, loss of appetite, which ultimately causes weight loss).

Once we had left Georgie's birth place, we tracked back cross country to continue the four-and-a-half hour journey back to Sheffield. At convenient places along the way we pulled in to check our cargo. Marty appeared to be quite nonchalant about the whole thing. Every time I peeked over the trailer back he was in cush position (sitting down) and didn't quite seem to understand what Georgie was making all the fuss about. Georgie was humming constantly, in a high pitch tone, and pacing around the trailer as if he was searching for an escape route. Knowing what I know now, he definitely had all the symptoms of a really stressed alpaca. It upset me to see him like that, but I didn't know what I could do to make his situation better.

‘Elaine, he'll settle, stop worrying, it's just all new for him. The more we stop will probably be making him worse. Let's just crack on up the motorway and get home,' said Nigel.

Reluctantly I agreed, jumped back in the 4x4 and sat tight until we finally reached Bassett. As we approached our drive I could see mums and dads stood by our paddock gate awaiting the new arrivals. It was a Saturday and, as mums and dads spent every Saturday with us, we had rung on ahead to let them know our ETA. At the bottom of our drive we had installed a second-hand cattle grid, which Nigel had picked up at a bargain price. We had fenced the dedicated paddock for the animals, but Nigel was concerned that, if they did escape the paddock, they could possibly negotiate their way out onto Bassett Lane, and then we would be in a mess! Can you imagine the double takes you would get from walkers and car drivers having sight of a free range llama and alpaca taking a stroll around the Mayfield Valley?

At last we were home. Nigel reversed the trailer into position, and the moment had arrived to introduce Marty and Georgie to their new home. Nigel opened the trailer door, and I was so exited I was skipping around like an eight-year-old. The ramp was lowered to the ground and there, at the back of the trailer, stood two very shy, little creatures looking back at us all. I swear I felt my heart skip a beat!

‘Oohs' and ‘ahs' continued for what seemed like a couple of minutes. Nigel put his arm around my shoulder, smiling as he pulled me towards him saying, ‘Is this what you wanted? Are you happy, girl?' I beamed a wide grin as I nuzzled my head into his chest and quietly said, ‘Thank you. I love you.'

Marty was the first one to sound a gentle hum. Georgie, being smaller than Marty, looked up to Marty for reassurance, then looked back at us. Although Marty and Georgie looked a little bemused at the four faces staring back at them, so too was I.

This was all new for me too. I only had knowledge of what I'd read in the interim period, between choosing the boys, up until collecting them. Admittedly, I'd read virtually twenty-four seven in that short space of time, but reading is certainly no substitute for hands-on experience. I didn't come from a farming background. My uncle Stan (my Dads brother) was a farmer, but only on a very small scale. The farm only consisted of seven acres, on which uncle Stan ran a very small dairy herd and a few sheep. I had always enjoyed spending time on the farm. As a child the farm was of great fascination, with all the hidey holes to explore and the haystack to climb. I was quite a brave child and, to Denise's horror, I would climb any ladders that might look like they led to anywhere interesting. Denise was terrified of heights. I can see her now, standing at the bottom of the haystack, pleading for me to come down and be careful. I was in my element though, and sometimes used to tease her that I was falling. Denise, as usual, always looked out for me and those times on the farm were no different. All the family, mum, dad, Sylv, Denise and I always helped out at the farm when the potatoes were ready to be picked; it was an annual event for us.

One year in particular I can remember the chaos that was caused by dad's car. Dad had parked the car outside one of the fields that we were picking from. Uncle Stan had wanted dad to use the car as a collection point for the two fields which we were working on, but dad didn't like the idea of taking the car into the field, in case we got stuck between the ruts that had been ploughed. After some discussion between dad and Uncle Stan, dad was persuaded that the car would be fine to drive into the field.

It's strange how vividly I can remember that day. We had a navy-blue Vauxhall Viva, registration number WWE 272G. It proved to be that dad's car in Uncle Stan's field was a bad idea after all!

Unfortunately, Uncle Stan had not taken into consideration how little clearance there was underneath the car. Yep, as guessed, we got stuck! The prop shaft looked like some futuristic machine designed to collect potatoes! What a mess! Uncle Stan's name was mud for the remainder of the day. Looking back, it makes me chuckle to visualise the scene. ‘Bloody hell, Stan, I said it was a bad idea,' snapped dad, as he crawled underneath the car to see what the damage was. ‘Many hands make light work', as the saying goes, and in this case that's just what happened. An eventful day that was never repeated again on potato picking day!