D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
February
2008
Sticking Their Necks Out
Southwest Llama Rescue provides the lovably odd critters with sanctuary and a fresh shot at llife.
Story and photos by Donna Clayton Lawder
Visiting the Southwest Llama Rescue (SWLR) shelter is a bit like stepping onto the set of Doctor Doolittle. The 10-acre property near Silver City — with various pastures, paddocks, sheds and barns — teems with critters of all sorts, not just llamas. A small flock of ducks waddles by, chasing after the large male goose they have "patterned on" — that is, they treat the gander like their "mother." A small gaggle of guinea fowl chatters and squawks. A sizable male turkey struts his stuff, making curious huffing sounds, stomping his heels and fanning his tail. His bevy of females sits on their eggs, nesting in a shed nearby.
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F.E. Baxter, co-founder of Southwest
Llama Rescue, nuzzles a favorite furry friend. |
But wait — can that actually be a pushmipullyu? Lining up perfectly, side by side, two mostly brown llamas play a trick on the eye in the half light and shadow, appearing for all the world to be one of Doctor Doolittle's mythical two-headed creatures. In fact, one of the llamas here at SWLR is an offspring of a famous herd sire named Doctor Doolittle, after the book and movies.
And there in the midst of all of this animal activity, smiling and, yes, talking to every one of the critters is F.E. Baxter, co-founder of SWLR and the woman on whose property this sanctuary has been created. She greets each llama by name, cooing sweetly in her gentle, even voice.
Baxter's sparkling blue eyes light up and she lets out a laugh as she instantly is mobbed by the furry camelids of all shapes, sizes and colors. It soon becomes apparent that this interest in her is not only inspired by the store of pressed alfalfa treats secreted in her apron pocket, which she is doling out on her palm. The llamas jockey to get close to the grandmotherly figure, arching in a neck for petting, nuzzling nose-to-nose with Baxter.
"This is a llama kiss. We exchange our breath," she says with a smile, then demonstrates with a barely audible, almost meditative inhalation and exhalation. The llama breathes back, its eyes half-closed in apparent bliss.
"Watch this one," Baxter says, and vigorously rubs another llama's back. The animal stretches out its long neck, its prehensile lips extending and quivering in what must be an expression of llama ecstasy. "Oh, that's her spot. She loves that. And she's not afraid to show it!"
Baxter points out that all the animals at the sanctuary — not just the llamas but the birds, cats and dogs as well — are rescue animals. With a laugh and shake of her head, she calls the goose "a drive-by goose," dropped off at the end of her property by someone who obviously thought the place looked like a good spot to deposit an unwanted goose and abandon their ownership responsibilities.
The fowl and outdoor cats all have jobs to do, she says. They all contribute something beneficial to the property and are part of an integrated whole in this special microcosm.
The ducks are particularly good at eating flies. The geese eat the onerous puncture vine, also known as "goatheads." The cats, of course, tend to rodent control, and seem to coexist peacefully with the resident birds. The guinea fowl pick through the piles of manure — comically referred to as "llama beans" by Baxter and her volunteers — keeping down parasites and insects.
"Llamas are fastidious," Baxter says. "They always 'go' in the same place and even scratch the dirt around their waste to make neat piles, so clean-up is really easy."
The Southwest Llama Rescue is a refuge and foster-care facility. Of the 30 llamas on the property right now — maximum capacity, Baxter says — eight of them are Baxter's own, permanent residents that she will care for and house for the rest of their natural lives. Others, she hopes, eventually will be adopted out to good homes.
Llamas have a host of uses. As well as providing fine wool, they will guard herds of sheep, are gentle and friendly enough to serve as therapy animals, and can be trained to be pack animals.
"Packers go quickly," Baxter says of the adoptability of llamas trained to carry packs on the trail.
Llamas will pull a cart. And while, yes, needing different care than your basic dog or kitty cat, they even make good pets.
"Oh, yes," Baxter says of the llamas' potential as companion animals. "They are friendly, social animals. They make good walking buddies!"
So why do llamas wind up needing to be rescued?
Baxter's normally cheerful face darkens a little as she says, "Well, the bottom dropped out of the llama market and people just started getting out of llamas."
For one thing, people started switching over to raising alpacas instead. Baxter insists that though there is quite a buzz over alpacas in the fiber industry, she feels that llamas' wool is just as good.
According to SWLR co-founder Pat Little, who works with the llama adoptions and has written much of the organization's literature and recorded its history on the SWLR Web site (www.southwestllamarescue.org), llamas were once highly valued exotic animals. But they were irresponsibly over-bred in the 1980s, leading to a glut of animals on a small market. Llamas live a long time — often more than 20 years — and though they are simpler to care for than horses, they do require regular vet care and grooming. Sometimes owners' lifestyles and circumstances change, making them unable to care for their llamas over the long haul.
SWLR was formed in response to a wave of severe animal cruelty cases that occurred in 2001. In one case, in Tijeras, Bernalillo County, a woman suffering from mental illness stopped feeding her mixed herd of llamas and Arabian horses. Several of the animals starved to death, and concerned neighbors contacted the authorities to complain about the smell. When officials discovered what was going on, the woman was taken to a mental-health facility and Bernalillo County Animal Control seized the animals, several of which had to be euthanized.
From that experience, Baxter, Little and some other friends decided that they should mobilize, to be able to spring into action to help llamas in need. The small band of llama lovers immediately started taking in rescued llamas and finding adoptive homes for them. SWLR was formally incorporated as a non-profit agency in 2004.