The Great Escape

In which Valentine plays the role immortalised by Steve McQueen (but without the bike) . . . . .

On Sunday afternoon, I was peacefully gardening, using earphones and my mp3 player to block out the sound of a group of British artists who had encamped alongside our house for the day (there are downsides to having a lovely view!) Unexpectedly, Linda (Val's sister) and Pete, and their son Will and daughter-in-law Tabitha arrived for a quick look at the llamas.

So, we pop up to the field, and I am happily explaining the character of llamas while we offer them goodies over the gate. And then, I turn round and see the unbelievable sight of another llama walking up the road outside the field!

It's Valentine. Within seconds, while I'm still trying to work out how he could have got here, he's climbed the bank and all the other llamas are rushing forward to greet him at the fence. Well, not quite, as Pedro is attempting to bite lumps out of him, and all hell is breaking loose.

Another one of those adrenalin-laden periods follows. I rush out of the field and somehow climb the bank. Putting myself between Valentine and Pedro seems too much of a challenge, as I am poised on a narrow path at the top of a two metre drop - and they are concentrating solely on their own conflict. So, I just grab Valentine's halter, and half throw myself back down the path. He follows - he doesn't really have any choice - and he has to give his attention now to preventing himself from falling down the bank on top of me!

Having gained the initiative, I frog march Valentine round into the catch-pen at the bottom of the field. At the same time, I'm shouting instructions to everyone else. "Linda, you block that gap and stop Pedro coming down! I don't think he'll push you out of the way." "Pete, you go and get some wire, and tools from the house, to fix the fence to separate the field again. And some llama leads and some food!"

Having got Valentine secure, I can contemplate the situation. Obviously he's feeling pretty sorry for himself, as having come round to see the old gang, Pedro's roughed him up again. I realise that the situation might still be far from under control - Valentine never goes anywhere without Duc, and yet here he is on his own. Where's Duc? Do we have another llama/vineyard potential devastation scenario? Pete returns and I set off running to the rough land, carrying food and a lead.

I reach the gate to the rough land, and my heart is hammering away. Not just the running - but the realisation that there's no sign of Duc.

I'm starting to panic now, and can't really work out what to do next. And then, as I climb further up the field, I spot him right at the top of the slope, inside the fence, happily foraging among the bushes. He hasn't escaped after all!

I persuade Duc to come down to the gate, by tempting him with concentrate food. There's no sign of how Valentine escaped, and Duc seems very calm. I decide that I need to take him to secure accommodation with Valentine, until I can work out how the escape happened.

Great idea. Only problem is - Duc's having none of it. There's no way he's going to let me put a lead on him. And as we haven't got a catch pen in this land yet, I've got no chance of making him go along with my wonderful plan.

As I sit there, giving Duc small handfuls of food, which he carefully takes with his neck fully extended, ready to jerk away the instant I make any move with the lead, I realise I need a Plan B . . . .

I can't leave Duc on his own. I can't get him over to Valentine. So, I must bring Valentine back to Duc - and worry later about the possibility of another escape.

And later on, this is how it works out. After Lin and Pete and family leave, I go back to Valentine - who's cushed down feeling sorry for himself (with Pedro still patrolling up and down, saying 'let me at him'). After a token struggle, he allows himself to be put on the lead, and calmly walks back to the rough land with me.







I leave Duc and Valentine together for the night, still unclear how Valentine escaped, and whether they will be there in the morning.





Lots to reflect on. I remember some words in an email to Val from Tom, one of her former colleagues:

You should totally call the BBC to come and make a series about your llama adventures. . . . It's pretty inspiring stuff . . . and a stark warning for any husband who doesn't take his wife's crazy plans seriously.

Tom, you are more wise than you know!