Most folks walk their dogs or, around here, horses; but this morning we, being the weirdoes we are, walked our alpacas. The equine dentist was coming (there is no camelid dentist around here) and we had to harness the boys in preparation. Since we had not harnessed them since their arrival and the onset of too-hot-to-walk-your-lizard weather, we anticipated a difficult time of it and gave ourselves a good hour to accomplish the task. We were, however, pleasantly surprised at how quickly it went and ended up with 45 minutes to spare.
Let’s take them on a walk. Why not?
I think I have told you before that alpacas hum when they are nervous and they were definitely nervous. We guided the singing camelids through the gate and down the street, stopping the workers digging the neighbors’ pool dead in their tracks. With jaws widely opened and shovels in hand, they stared in disbelief as if we were strolling alongside two-headed green Martians. Maybe I can’t get the degree of double takes I used to in my hotter days from my looks but I can still accomplish it with our animals. Perhaps there is a method to my madness?
As we turned the corner, the tall Rainbird sprinklers came on at Brookville Arabians, spitting us with a generous shower and unnerving the alpacas further. Disappointed, we turned around but vowed to walk our beasts regularly now that the weather had cooled.
At ten, Curt the equine dentist arrived. Thus began my single most difficult day of farming thus far, possibly with the exception of shearing. I have to let a little time pass to be sure.
The relative ease of harnessing the alpacas must have lulled me into a false sense of security. We had them haltered with lead ropes attached. We hold them; he files their teeth; the job is done.
Whoa Nellie was I wrong!
Curt is a very nice man, a professional good ol’ boy who knows what he is doing and has been around the ranch a time or ten. He definitely knows shit from shine-ola. We approached Lucky, the more docile of the two. I asked him if I should get the pellets to aid in the dental process. “No,” he says, “He’s gotta get used to me touching him and take it like a man.” Curt proceeded to rub Lucky’s nose and mouth, the top of his head and his jaw line. Lucky took it fairly well. Curt examined his overgrown incisors and pointy fighting teeth (I recently learned alpacas have fighting teeth in the back of their mouths.)
“Yeah, they need a good trimmin’, at least ¾” or so.”
“Won’t that hurt?” I ask.
Apparently, alpacas don’t have any nerves in their teeth; at least, that is what he told me. I hope he’s right; I seem to remember along the way someone saying baby boys couldn’t feel circumcisions either.
Well, Curt went and got his tools, filled his bucket with water from the well, and got down to business. We asked what we could do to help and he shrugged us off but changed his mind after Lucky made it very clear he does not like going to the dentist. For the first time today, I got to see him completely rear up on his hind legs. He’s tall, scary tall; I’d say eight or nine feet. 
We cajoled him, fought him, wrestled him, and everything in between. We had sweat pouring down every surface as we struggled against the formerly polite modified ruminant that just an hour earlier was skipping down the street with me. Admittedly, I wouldn’t like it if someone was sticking large metal nippers and diamond files in my mouth either. I had the bright idea of sitting on him once when he cushed, or sat down on all fours.
“Should I just sit on him?” I asked.
“Sure, why not?”
Curt was getting impatient. He started politely making comparisons to other alpaca farm clients. This guy had a containment shoot; that guy had a tilt table.
“You might consider getting something like that in the future,” he suggested.
Here I am sitting on an alpaca holding a lead rope like a bizarro world unprofessional bull rider. Then, Lucky decided he did not want to be on the ground anymore and just stood up with me on his back. Needless to say, I did not make eight seconds on my first alpaca ride. Falling, I grabbed the metal fence which was conveniently close and saved myself from a face plant in the dirt only to get elbowed in the nose by poor Curt who was trying to not let Lucky get away. At this point, I had to sit down as I had stars in my eyes and was reasonably certain I had a broken nose. I sat down and felt the bridge of my nose, feeling liquid gush from my nostrils, sure I was going to pass out. David
had left to go to a Bad Chicken Luncheon and I could not be my usual wimp self and go lie down and let the men handle it. I had to get up and help Curt, still struggling with the maniacal furry beast with cloven hooves and bad teeth.
We got it all done somehow, Tumalo, too, though you see no photos of him because I couldn’t take anymore photos after the first five minutes. My short career as a dental assistant done, I am somewhat lamenting the wagon I am on (four days and counting) but will soothe my sore (unbroken) nose and bruised pretend farmer’s ego somehow. I know I have said it before; but I don’t know how the real farmers do it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to satisfy my recent case of the vapors and go lie down for a few days.
I have had a busy non-posting-to-the-blog weekend. Saturday was spent trying unsuccessfully to finish incomplete projects before my time is no longer my own and Sunday was taken up by an all day pet adoption clinic at the 
Across from our booth was the Giant Schnauzer Rescue. I have always wanted a Giant Schnauzer so it took all I had and a little practical realization not to bring one home with me. Same with the Great Pyrenees. I love a big huggable dog and would have more if I had the money and the time.
Baa, baa, 
