THE LITTLEST LLAMA

There is a delightful book coming out in April for llama lovers of all ages when Mallinson Rendel publishes The Littlest Llama by Jane Buxton and illustrated by Jenny Cooper.

When everyone is too busy to play with the littlest llama, he sets off in search of a friend. But there are dangers lurking on the high altiplano.

Poor littlest llama, with everyone else too busy, too hot or too tired, he has to leave his herd in search of a playmate. It’s a little scary away from the others and when he gets home again, there’s a wonderful surprise waiting.

Jane Buxton’s great knowledge and understanding of these animals shines through in this lively story. Her fondness and respect for llamas give this book a real heart. Illustrator Jenny Cooper’s exquisitely detailed drawings bring to life the character of the llamas and the hot South American landscape.

The Littlest Llama will be launched on Saturday, 8th April at the Christchurch South Library at a family event featuring two of Jane’s llamas as the special guests.

The Littlest Llama By Jane Buxton and illustrated by Jenny Cooper

ISBN 0-908783-93-0 Hardback 32 pages RRP $24.95

Bronwyn Bannister Publicity and Promotions

FROM THE LLAMA’S LIPS

By Percy Llama

PercyLlama@xtra.co.nz

                         Some folk sometimes wonder how we llamas fill our days.  Well, I can tell you that mostly we keep ourselves occupied with grazing, herd interactions, watching out for danger, snoozing or keeping an eye on everything the minders and their neighbours get up to.  Like all llamas, the guys in my herd are extra curious about everything that goes on within sight of our home patch, but if all else fails then we make our own fun.  A case in point is the "Great Pellet Robbery" one of my mates pulled off last week.

This boy, whose true identity had better remain a secret, pulled off the biggest pellet heist of the decade using a mixture of ruthless cunning and subtle subterfuge.  Like most of us, he enjoys a handful of pellets now and again, but rarely gets as many as he would like.  He keeps telling us that "as long as there's room in my rumen, I'll eat it".  So it was that as the days grew longer and the grass got shorter, he began to hum furtively about his dream of busting open the pellet container that the minders keep in our Llama Lodge.  "Don't even think about it", I cautioned.  "Don't you know that too much of that stuff can give you a guts ache, mess up the microflora of your rumen and overload you with starch! And goodness only knows what that will do to your liver!"  I thought that my advice had been noted, but
unfortunately subsequent events proved otherwise.

Over the next few days my mate didn't say a lot, and his behaviour in front of the humans was impeccable.  Looking back, I should have read the signs.  He was goodie four-feet; no raiding of the young 'uns tucker, no messing in the Lodge, no hassling for food, and no craning through the garden fence to nibble grevillea.  He was Mr Cool himself and none of us guessed the evil plan he was hatching, least of all the minders.

It was around midday and most of my herd were enjoying a post-grazing siesta.  Young Mr Bojangles was on sentry duty watching over the deer in the paddock below.  We knew that he'd wake us up if he scented that any of the hinds were about to give birth, a spectacle that we all find irresistible.  We were all so dozy that none of us noticed that the 'Ronnie Biggs' llama amongst us was missing. 
Unnoticed he had slipped into the Lodge and worked his magic on the hitherto impregnable pellet box. Apparently, having carefully selected the newly filled box, he had up-ended it and rolled it about until the combination of his incessant biting of the latch and the momentum of 5kg of pellets against the lid finally breached its defences and its treasures spewed forth over the ground.  After a quick check that no other herd member had been disturbed by the noise, he settled into a comfortable kush in the corner to enjoy the spoils.

About an hour later, Ronnie (as we will call him) tottered out of the Lodge and sprawled out for a sleep. Too cunning to gloat and too selfish to share, he maintained a detached innocence that preserved his secret and ensured a second round of feasting once he had rested from his gorging. By now the rest of us were back grazing or hind-watching, and the regular observations by the minders from their watch-tower revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

However, like all successful thieves, greed and a degree of showmanship eventually proved Ronnie's undoing.   After returning for another hour or so of more leisurely feasting, the minders became suspicious that Ronnie's big (soon to be bigger!) bottom was more or less a permanent feature visible in the corner of the Lodge where the goodies are stored.  The penny finally dropped when they caught a glimpse of our Ronnie with the box tossed up over his head in order to slide the remaining handful of pellets towards his mouth. (I've included a couple of frames we retrieved later from our LlamaCam video footage that clearly show his technique.)

Batons to the ready the minders crept to the Lodge and caught the villain red-handed. Escape was impossible as by this time Ronnie's head was so deep within the pellet box retrieving the crumbs that he didn't even see or hear them coming.  Besides, in his satiated state, speedy evasive action was not an option.  The ensuing commotion brought the rest of us over in an instant.  "You selfish pig!" we all cried in anguish whilst we scrummaged for left-overs amidst a flurry of brooms and hands as the minders competed with us to pick up the few scattered morsels of his 5kg banquet.

         Next morning we all expected to be woken by the moaning and groaning of a llama with a mega stomach-ache.  But no, chirpy Ronnie was up before us all, drinking the water trough dry, grazing and smirking widely.  Boy, were we mad at him!  At least he should be suffering big time! Fortunately there is justice in this world, and by day's end Ronnie was looking decidedly peeky. His normal agility had now been replaced by the stately progress of a bulk tanker.  "Didn't I warn you?", I gloated.  "If you think the hypodermic syringe is bad just wait until you see the minders' three-pronged stomach pump!  Just think, if you'd had the decency to let us all share those pellets you probably wouldn't be suffering now."  The precedent of years of exile in Brazil for such crimes was lost on him, however, as he merely retorted cheekily that a pilgrimage to see the rellies in Chile would be just a canter from there. 

After four days of sitting around a lot, Ronnie is now back to his usual self and is showing no remorse.  In keeping with current policies, his punishment from the minders is an indefinite period of home detention. However, we have a plan for more appropriate retribution.  The rest of the herd plan a llama version of oral Paintball in which Ronnie will be the only target. With this escapade he set a very bad example to the young boys, one of whom, since the minders removed the pellet boxes, has been trying to break into our llama medicine cabinet.  Funnily enough, he doesn't find Filta-Bac and Vetadine half as interesting as pellets.