‘The joy our llamas spread is infectious’
Caroline Pembro had never owned a pet until she started looking after llamas. Now, they have become the companions of a lifetime.
Llamas are affectionate, funny and intelligent animals, but I hadn’t given them much thought until 20 years ago, when my husband, Jon, and I stopped at The Llama Park in East Sussex. We were there because I’d heard it had a good cafe, but when I spotted the llamas, I fell in love.
Their long lashes and quizzical expressions made me want to take them home. I’d never even had a cat or dog, but after that visit, I couldn’t rest until I got a llama. Jon thought I was mad, but after two years, I convinced him to let us rent a field near our house in Somerset, and along came Dotty and Monty.
The pair were great characters. Being with them brought me endless happiness. It inspired me to be a re-homing co-ordinator for the British Llama Society, alongside my job as a chiropodist. Soon, I’d rescued 11 llamas from owners who’d passed away or couldn’t look after them any more. All they needed was their grassy field, a stable and some hay to feed on, and they were content.
Looking after 13 llamas sounds like quite a feat, but in the end, they were the ones that helped me. When we decided to start a family in 2004, I had a terrible first pregnancy. I had an operation at 16 weeks to remove a tumour and we didn’t know if the baby would survive. Thankfully, Harry was happy and healthy, but I suffered from postnatal depression. I ended up in hospital at one stage because of sheer exhaustion and migraines so bad I was losing my vision.
It was the llamas that got me through. At home, I felt I had no idea how to look after a baby, and constantly worried that I was failing. But in the field, I had a sense of control. I knew what I was doing with the llamas, and felt I couldn’t fail them.
Whenever life as a new mother got too much, I’d go to the llamas and feel at peace. Each time, I’d strap Harry in a car seat and carry him to the field, plonking him on a hay bale. Jim, one of our older llamas, took a liking to sitting down next to Harry, keeping an eye on him. Jim was the sensitive one of the group. If Harry woke up crying, Jim would start humming, which means, ‘I don’t like this,’ in llama speak.
Bit by bit, my life got back on track. Harry learned to stand by pulling himself up on the stable fences and, growing up, he and his younger brother, James, born three years later, had a llama each to look after. They’re now 16 and 13, and it’s great for getting them away from their screens.
The llamas are great for getting my sons away from their screens
Because the llamas helped me, I knew they could do the same for others, so I set up an adoption scheme. A girl who was having a hard time in school adopted one of our llamas, Hattie. Her mum tells me that whenever she feels low, she looks at a picture of Hattie and it cheers her up.
With the success of the adoption scheme, in 2015, Jon and I bought our dream home with eight acres of land. That was the beginning of Hill House Llamas, our sanctuary where people can visit, hug, stroke or walk llamas. We run arts and crafts classes using their wool and host hen parties, too. Soon, we’ll run llama yoga sessions; we have a flat field next to a stream, so it’s the ideal place to practise yoga with llamas roaming around.
During lockdown, the llamas kept us grounded. Most have been saved from uncertain futures, and the joy they spread is infectious. I might look after rescue llamas, but they do the real rescuing.
hillhousellamas.co.uk