Have a bit of llama karma
These unusual animals are not only enchanting, but useful, discovers Kate Green
They’re not only enchanting, but useful, finds Kate Green
It was an atmospheric evening at the Grange in Hampshire about 10 years ago—mist rising over the water meadows, a giant chess set looming out of the dusky garden, an owl hooting—when one of Jo Longden’s supper guests declared: ‘What you need in this unbelievable setting is llamas.’
‘Bring it on,’ was Mrs Longden’s response, but she was still somewhat startled when, the following morning, a trailer arrived and Mia and Matilda were disgorged into an enormous field. ‘As they cantered off into the distance, I asked where their headcollars were, to be told: “Oh, no—they’re wild”.’
through books, websites and the British Camelids Association, the Longdens learned a lot about llama husbandry, including that their 14-month-old acquisitions might live until they were well over 20, that horses are initially frightened by the smell, that llamas have sensitive noses and can’t breathe through their mouths and that gestation takes a year— Matilda had to be rechristened Mattie after the surprise arrival one morning of a cria (baby llama) from Mia.
‘We became known for our strange pets— we often had strangers coming in and asking if they could see them,’ recalls Mrs Longden. ‘they’re comical, gentle and sweet, with silly faces, and I’ve become very fond of them.’
The exotic family additions became companions for ponies and guard dogs for sheep. The children, who brushed them and learned to halter-train them, had ambitions of running a trekking business—some 20 companies in the UK use llamas as pack animals (they can carry up to 55lb)— although this chiefly manifested itself in carrying supplies across the fields on family picnics. ‘They were the best pets because we were the only children at school that had them,’ says Tatiana Longden, who was 11 when they arrived.
The Longdens’ current pair, Mia and Marmite—names always begin with M and have included Marmalade and Malteser—currently reside with Kingsclere, Hampshire, smallholder Sarah Sladen, who says they’re the talk of the town, charming and startling passing motorists in equal measure. In turn, the llamas are fascinated by the traffic and the comings and goings at a nearby bus stop; Marmite, in particular, was very taken with the camera on our photoshoot.
The llama nearly died out in Peru after the Spanish conquest, due to disease and over-culling for meat, but survived to turn up in Britain, like so much other exotica, in Victorian times. There are now up to 5,000 here, but far fewer than their alpaca cousins, which have exploded in popularity, numbering about 40,000.
Alpacas are smaller, so are perhaps less daunting to potential keepers, their fleece is more valuable—llama hair is coarser and doesn’t need shearing, although their underbelly wool can make a luxurious fibre, said to be seven times warmer than wool— and breeding is big business. ‘The llama world is probably less commercial and more cosy,’ suggests my contact at the British Llama Society, Liz Butler, who was in the vanguard of llama keeping, once owning 52 at her farm in Surrey.
Llamas, usually gelded males, are excellent at guarding sheep. If it spots a predator, the llama will set off at it, gathering speed, its head menacingly low, sometimes emitting an eerie gurgle and strike out with its front legs. (Lynx UK Trust has mooted giving llamas to farmers in the event of its controversial lynx-reintroduction plan coming off.) ‘A llama will decide that the
sheep and their lambs are all his, and will stand guard,’ explains Mrs Butler.
The llama may not be naturally cuddly— although curious, its manner can be aloof, its demeanour superior—but its tranquil pottering movement and confidential murmuring noises, like a resident of a gentleman’s club harrumphing at something in the newspaper at breakfast, makes it popular for work with mental-health patients and children with behavioural difficulties. A llama used to visit Great Ormond Street
in pre-health-and-safety days and Mrs Butler’s deliver presents to the local nursing home at Christmas.
She was first attracted to llamas 25 years ago for their character and for something different to put on her patch of land after her son took over the farm. ‘In the evenings, they have playtime, which is known as “promping”,’ she reveals. ‘Around dusk, one will start skipping across the field and the rest will follow, which is lovely to watch. They’re just great fun.’
‘They’re comical, gentle and sweet, with silly faces, and I’ve become very fond of them ’