I can now add being spit on by a fully-grown South American Alpaca to my growing list of indignities.
I was out yesterday at Rob and Sandra Blom’s farm near Vanscoy, Sask. They were busy shearing the fibre from their small herd of 22 alpacas. Once a year the family gathers to cut, sort and bag the high-end fibre. They send it to a fibre mill for cleaning and processing into yarn. It comes back ready for resale, or for homemade projects that include knitting and weaving scarves, toques and sweaters.
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I didn’t see the insult coming, nor did I expect it. Obviously, my nemesis, “Hercules,” didn’t like being photographed. Maybe it was the flash.
I saw him hiss and pucker up into a smile as I photographed him. Then I felt something wet hit my hand. A foul odor filled the air and was now emanating from hands and camera. Regurgitated cud doesn’t smell too good. Fortunately my camera lens took the brunt of the assault.
WP editor Barb Glen was quick with a rumination of her own after hearing of my dishonour from the three-stomached ungulate. “They’re vegetarians. What’s the problem?”
The decisive moment!
