After the Storm

The next morning came – just a little too soon for us weary things. However, our worries about our four-legged family had us out of bed and up to the field at the crack of dawn (well, maybe a few minutes later).

Duc and Valentine both came to greet us at the gate, although Valentine was still limping. After sharing a few happy breakfast moments with them, we decided to let Duc out of the catch-pen, and watched anxiously as he strutted straight towards the new fence dividing the field. Immediately Pedro responded, heading towards his side of the fence, head and tail up, ears back.

We waited. We watched. We held out breath.

Lots of posturing and posing by both protagonists. Duc moved one way, Pedro followed him. Duc turned back. So did Pedro. Up and down the fence line the two marched, hurling silent taunts across the wire, each trying to look taller and more threatening than his rival. Oh, if only we had a video camera!

Meanwhile Valentine, showing only a passing interest in the spectacle, remained happily in the catch-pen, munching hay. Since he did not seem in the least bit keen to join Duc in their allotted part of the field, and showed no anxiety at being on his own in the catch-pen, (an animal with a bit of sense!) we thought we’d leave him in there for a little longer, to ensure he didn’t move around too much, and hopefully give his foot a chance to heal.

Valentine spent the day either kushed or eating. Duc spent the day either posing or eating. Pedro spent all day ‘on guard’ at the fence line, apparently unable to relax at all. By the end of the day, my sympathies had transferred from the victims of the massacre, to poor uptight Pedro, driven by instinct, a slave to his hormones, bearing the lonely burden of being The Stud Male.

Deciding that overt hostilities had ceased (albeit temporarily), and that the new fence was doing its job, we turned our minds to the next immediate problem of getting some more hay from somewhere. We were down to the last of the bales that Mike and Sue had kindly given us to ‘keep the llamas going until we got sorted’ (ha!) and there was very little grass left in Duc and Valentine’s side of the field.

Simon groaned. Another delightful challenge of our new life lay ahead – telephone conversations in French, as he tried to find someone, somewhere who could sell us a load of hay immediately. I really ought to do something about improving my French language skills, so Simon doesn’t have to do all the communicating. But then if I did, it would be me having to make these phone calls….