Sometimes a key phrase should send up a red flag, but for some reason it didn't this time. We had struck what seemed like an agreeable bargain--trading some registered angora goats for 2 llamas that needed a new home. When questioned on their backgrounds, I got the story that they had been "in a petting zoo"--stupid me--that should have triggered a negative response on my part but didn't. I just thought, "Oh well, at least they should be used to people."
Newton came with a buddy, Tony. Both were quite willing to come up to the fence and liked to have hand treats, especially white bread. Tony didn't get much because Newton hogged most of the treats. Tony's more of a spitter if touched, but Newton seemed Okay, although he did not know how to lead. Two sessions and he came along fine. It seemed time to begin my real love, training to cart, so Tony was chosen first. Newton and Tony were separated for about a week, then allowed back together when Newton was moved to the training area.
On the fateful day that the event occurred, I had decided to take Tony out for a drive with another llama, as I was all alone and Newton had not been started in the cart yet. Both animals came right up to the fence, so I just reached over to catch Tony. Newton did a snaky number and struck at my left ear, and my hand went up in immediate and automatic defense. Both animals ran off a ways, so I crawled through the fence to go get Tony. I was just reaching for him when Newton struck from behind. I neither saw nor heard him, so had no time to react.
Newton reared and chest-bumped me to the ground from behind and I rolled sideways, then to my back trying to get my feet under me. He immediately charged from the front, rearing up and trampling me repeatedly. All I could do was get my hands up to protect my upper body and face. Then, from a rearing stance, he dropped full bodied on me, pinning me to the ground. Thankfully, my arms were free to cover my face and neck, as he continued battering me with his head and neck. It was very difficult to breathe with his full weight on me, probably in the 300 pound range as a three year old male.
Apparently, Newton had decided it was going to be a fight to the finish, and that I would not take Tony away from his pasture ever again. He gathered up his weight and shifted to get up and rear again. When I saw him coming down on me, it took all I had to roll the few feet to the fence and underneath it. I was so out of breath and battered that I could not get up for a long time. Had I been less fit than I am or the size of a child, I would not have made it out of the pen. My ears were throbbing and the right one had a cut behind it although it was not bleeding badly. My left thigh was so bruised and battered, I couldn't support my weight for nearly a half-hour. I finally hobbled to safety where I could get some ice on my injuries and to lie down.
While recovering, I have had lots of time to think about llamas like Newton. Making the decision about what to do with him was very difficult. It was almost impossible to deal with him personally. He had also tried to chest-bump and intimidate the person who moved him to another pen so we could deal with Tony separately. It was very obvious he was going to be very unsafe, and that I would never be able to handle him again, even for routine matters. Feeding him was a challenge. Putting food and water into his pen was performed very carefully as he threw his body at the side of the pen and reached out attempting to bite me, even when pouring water into his bucket, although the hay and grain were already in his pen quite far away from the water.
My heart ached for this llama whose brain was literally "lost" due to his unnatural handling as a youngster. There was much to consider, especially since we have so many visitors to the farm and llamas coming in constantly for cart training. He was going to be far too dangerous to have on the farm, especially with children and sometimes handicapped adults here to visit. The liability and chance of someone being hurt was far too great. I wondered about letting someone take him, but he wouldn't even be safe as a guard llama for sheep. The owner would never be able to get into the pasture. I even pondered his life in a small pen like the one we had contained him in--never being able to run or play and not even able to be shorn or have routine care like shots, nail trimming or worming. And, perhaps a horrible sign on the stall to warn people, "Dangerous animal--keep away!"
I remained dazed and ambivalent for weeks agonizing over the choices and trying to face the only real choice I could make. People asked why I didn't shoot him immediately! I was in such shock over the whole thing that I didn't have time to make an emotional and violent reaction like that. I still am convinced it was not his fault. This was a man-made problem that could so easily be avoided if we don't promote the kissy-huggy, bottle-fed, petting zoo babies.
The pain of "eliminating" Newton was an odd mixture of emotions, not overwhelming rage or a need for revenge. He had hurt me physically and emotionally. My response to my other llamas had been tempered forever. I'm finally getting over the whole ordeal, but it is taking longer than I would have thought--more like several months rather than a week or two.
My concern now is the future for the llama industry and the jeopardy we may be putting people into. With the release of the Disney film, it would be so easy to repeat the misfortunes that came to the dog world after the children just had to have a Dalmation puppy--finding out too late that they were not an appropriate breed for children. Will we need to rescue llamas from owners who have no idea how llamas should be handled or raised? Will some farms continue bottle-feeding and early weaning just to sell "loveable" babies? Will we be reading about someone killed or injured by a llama that has gone berzerk? And if we do, what will that do for the overall llama industry?
I am hoping it will not take a lawsuit for the llama breeders to develop a conscience in this most important matter. Believe me, if I had thought for a minute that the person from whom those llamas came knew anything at all about berzerk llama syndrome, I would be in court right now! I know he did not. When Newton's brain "went," it went COMPLETELY and never to return. Had he attacked anyone before me, it would have been impossible to handle him the way I had before the fatal event. I had trimmed toenails, sheared, gave shots, groomed, and trained him to lead. After that day, I could not even walk past his pen let alone feed or water him without the constant intimidation of him thrashing against the sides of the pen or striking out to try and bite. It seems such an unnecessary loss. The physical pain is almost gone unless I bump the place on my left thigh, and sometimes it just aches without touching it. The emotional scar isn't visible, but it's there. And there's the empty spot in the world where Newton should be--where he should be being loved and cared for--and just being a llama...
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