This is a story, perhaps a long one, that I need to tell. I want to release it the permanence of the written word, with the hope that it will quell my lingering anxiety over the events of Friday the 13th.
It began as a great day. Cayenne and I walked the trail, and peacefully extricated ourselves from a pack of four dogs that live on a ranch up the trail. They startled us by rushing from the hills, tails held high, and barking. I spoke kindly and quietly to them and suggested to Cayenne that we turn around and move along. She agreed. I know the owners of these dogs and they seem harmless enough, but you never know about the energy of a free roaming pack, a reality that became all too true later that day. We came home, fed the llamas and the goats, and waited for our vet to arrive and give annual immunizations. Warren was home and the three of us haltered up all the animals and administered shots in record time. Good. I went to town and picked up my car from the mechanics, paid a huge bill (ugh), and was home in time to call Susan before my walk at 4:00 p.m. We hadn't talked for a couple of days and had a lot to catch up on.
Cayenne and her best friend, Newton (a Cairin Terrier that stays with us when his humans are away), and Warren were all upstairs in the living room. I heard Cayenne barking, which quickly escalated to an urgent howling, whining. At first, I thought Warren was teasing her so I didn't hang up immediately as I would ordinarily do. How I regret that I ignored my instincts. Warren came downstairs and said, "It looks like a llama is down and dogs are attacking her!" I looked out the window, said, "oh, my god!," hung up the phone, and bolted out the door as I slipped into my knee high rain boots. Warren was getting his jeans and boots on right behind me and apparently yelling for me to "WAIT!" I didn't hear a thing except my own screaming and sobbing as I rushed to Brown Sugar who was laying flat out on her side, with two dogs, one at her neck, and one at her hind quarters, biting and pulling on her in a frenzied mania. I stopped a few feet short of them because I suddenly realized I had nothing except my bare hands to defend Brown Sugar. I had enough sense to know I could not try to pull these dogs off her without getting hurt. The dogs looked so menacing and ominous, with big ol' heads, snapping jaws and thick, muscular bodies. I kept screaming and cursing, and found some sticks to throw at them. Brown Sugar was weakly sending out her alarm call that sounds something like a turkey chortle. My heart was ripped apart, seeing her so vulnerable, and me feeling so helpless. Once I started throwing the sticks, the dogs left and went after our other three llamas. Warren was wise enough to pick up a pipe and a metal bar and he was able to beat them off. Somehow, Warren herded the llamas into the paddock and shut the gate where they would be safe from harm. But, our other two boys were in the front pasture and had to be rounded up and put in a stall at some point.
In the meantime, Senor D came racing over in his truck from his ranch across the road. I am quite sure he thought I was the one being mauled, given my hysterical, boisterous screams. He pulled up the driveway and the dogs ran over to his truck. He got out with his shot gun, but I clearly saw the dogs wag their tails when they saw him. I thought, "Oh, crap." My brain was scrambled, but I realized these were not wild, vicious dogs. They probably belonged to someone who either dumped them or they lost their way. Senor D fired his gun and they ran to the hills where they sat and watched us from a ridge for a bit. We talked about shooting them if they returned. Ha! Easy to bluster in the heat of the moment. Warren told me to call the vet and ordered me into the house because he thought Brown Sugar my need to be down right then and there to prevent her from suffering. Still sobbing, I called the vet, then my friend, Suki, and asked her to call animal control and to go next door to our neighbor's house to see if he could come over with his gun. I am uncomfortable with guns so this line of conversation was horrible to me. There was a light rain and Warren was trying to figure out if he could move Brown Sugar in the tractor bucket. I protested, knowing that if she was still alive, she would try to get out and really injure herself. Our vet said she could come out and warned me that she would likely have to put our llama down, given the information I had just shared.
Brown Sugar is our almost 19 year old matriarch of the herd. We love her like crazy. She is skin and bones and still just as bright and alert as can be. She craves affection and will often seek stroking and brushing even before she eats. To think of her dying this way made me double over in grief. I walked to our downstairs window to look out at the scene and couldn't believe my eyes...Brown Sugar who was no longer laying on her side, but was in a cush position, with her head up, looking around! This changed everything! I ran down to Warren who said her injuries did not look as bad as we thought. She was torn up around her face and throat and her hind quarters, but none of the wounds looked life threatening as far as we could tell. Actually, I was a weenie and I could barely bring myself to inspect the injuries up close. It was raining and Brown Sugar was getting soaked. She wouldn't get up. Suki, her friend, Alyssia, from Cottonwood, and Marty, all came over to help. Alyssia has a farm with livestock so she is accustomed to the hardships that can befall animals who are exposed to predators. She and Warren looked closely at Brown Sugar and tried to get her up to walk her up to the shelter. She still wouldn't budge. We were stymied about what to do. I was prepared to bring my car down and sleep next to her in case the thrill seeking canines returned.
While Warren was standing guard over Brown Sugar, the rest of us got all of the other animals safely put away. Catching the boys, Patches and Concerto, is usually a challenge and we had done this earlier in the day for their shots. I thought they would be wary. But, the universe was pulsing on just the right beats that night, and the boys ended up in the front paddock where I could easily enclose them. Then, Suki assisted me with the round up. I was a wreck, but I breathlessly told Suki, "Hold these long sticks to your sides and step forward if Concerto moves toward you - you must be assertive. I will come from the other side and grab him around the neck." Suki nodded and we began our capture. Concerto moved toward Suki and I yelled, "Place the stick on his back and press down firmly, very firmly." Bravo! We had him! Patches was easy so we moved both of them with no problem. Now, the goats needed to be moved from their stall into what is known as Cayenne's stall. With so many people around and the pressing energy in the air, Bumper, Pickles and Theo were frightened and didn't want to move, even with treats. Thankfully, Alyssia took charge and grabbed each one and put them in their temporary suite. By now, Brown Sugar was standing up! Hallelujah! Warren put his arm around her, coaxing her forward, and I shook the pan of alfalfa pellets, until we were able to put her in the paddock, and then into the stall. The fact that she was interested in eating was key in assessing the severity of her injuries. If she wanted pellets, she wasn't hurting that badly. I called our vet and asked if I could pick up antibiotic injections so she wouldn't have to come out. She agreed. Animal Control said they would not be out because there was nothing they could do if the dogs were wandering. The officer said she would bring out live traps the following day and advised us to shoot the dogs if they returned.
Early the following morning, Warren and I conferred about the day's plan. Although all of our animals were now safe, they would have to remain confined as long as the dogs were at large. He decided to go to Dr. T's to get the meds, and I would do my regular feeding routine. Then, we would go neighbor to neighbor to try and find the dogs. The first thing I had to do was go to my neighbor's ranch (Newton's home) to feed the cats. I told Warren I was not going to let Cayenne and Newton out to run since we weren't sure what would happen if they encountered "the beasts!" But, as I drove up my neighbor's driveway and I looked around, I thought, "Oh, what the heck, I can let Cayenne out. " I knew she needed to run because she missed our evening outing and she really acts out with pent up energy. So, ignoring the pecking message in my head that said to err on the side of caution, I let her out. I pulled up to the house with Newton still in the car with me (thank heavens), and I received a tail wagging, body wiggling, eye twinkling greeting from none other than the twin marauders! At my friend's house! This was too good to be true! Confining them was not going to be a problem except.....my dear Cayenne was meandering up the driveway and had yet to lay eyes on the dogs. My heart was thrashing around in my chest, as I was thinking about what might happen when they met. Plus, the compassion I felt for these guys who clearly wanted to belong to someone was a paradoxical kind of emotional pain. After all, they nearly killed Brown Sugar. Newton finally stretched his little body up to the car window, caught sight of the intruders and began a nerve jangling hysteria. I decided to head back down the driveway, pick up Cayenne, drive to my neighbor's across the road, and return with him to get the dogs. I sped down the rain rutted drive and felt a thud against my car. I stopped, sick with fear that I may have hit Cayenne, but instead, I watched as Cayenne laid into the two dogs who had followed my car. Her mohawk was up, and they were all growling and lunging, but the outsiders wanted to play, not attack. I told Cayenne to get in the car and she seized the opportunity. Whew! The dogs followed me to Marty's. I pounded on his door and said, "The dogs are here!" He calmly got a pan of food, petted the dogs, and put them in the shed where they remained until Animal Control came to pick them up.
The good news - the dogs still have a chance of finding a home, albeit NOT on a ranch. This was a huge relief to Warren, me, and Marty because we could all see that they were sweet, affectionate animals. The best news is Brown Sugar is recovering beautifully. Warren and I give her daily antibiotic injections and put ointment on the wounds on her face, throat, and hind legs. She is a tolerant patient. Bottom line: She is eating, pooping and peeing, which are essential physiological functions in determining her prognosis. The trauma on Friday the 13th was marked by blessings and miracles of survival, synchronicity and friends with incredible substance.
