LGD and a Few Country Folks Help Save Baby Alpaca

Humans, much like herd animals, need to be okay with asking for and receiving help. This is the lesson I learned from my 2-year-old livestock guardian dog (LGD), a mama alpaca and a handful of country folks…

Brogyn is the first alpaca to be born at Wynley Park, and Scout is his livestock guardian dog (LGD). We took them to Jennifer Lindberg’s studio to celebrate the special connection between dogs and their humans and, in our case, dogs & alpacas.

The Love of a Great (Pyrenees) Dog

Before getting Scout, we had only had pet dogs at Wynley Park. Despite my experience training dogs, I knew very little about LGDs, so I researched them before selecting one. She is perfect. I mean, every human thinks their dog is perfect. Every human is right; perfect for that particular human. Scout however, is as intelligent, courageous and loyal as the protagonist after whom she is named. (Hint: we named our second and third LGDs Harper and Finch)

Scout is serious about guarding the farm and all who live here. Our farm sitter knows first-hand what it means to be escorted off the premises by her. If you are not invited, do not come through the gate. Even if you are invited, make sure one of us has remembered to tell Scout. Her job is to protect livestock from predators, not to be my best friend. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her. Loads of resource material cautions against LGDs bonding with humans. Supposedly, it is to encourage the dog to bond to their herd, rather than to humans. Flapdoodle. LGDs are quite capable of bonding to both herd and humans. Much bigger concern is that you, the human, will over-attach to your LGD. My situation exactly.

Dangers of Country Living

Country living is a lot like city people imagine. It is picturesque. The sun rises over our duck pond and sets below the hill where our alpacas graze. Corn stalks ripple across the field on one side of the alpacas and horses nicker to the South. It is quiet here, soothing to the soul. Although I thought it would be romantic when we first moved here, I quickly learned this lifestyle is not romantic. It is hot, dirty, time-eating work. I imagined a world of cute furry critters; deer, fox, bunnies, raccoons.  All those cute furry critters that I imagined are here. Only, they’re all out here trying to kill one another. We realized pretty quick that we needed an LGD. Some of these predators can be dangerous even for a 100-pound LGD. Consequently, some nights I can hardly stand to let her do what she was born to do. Hence why we now have multiple LGDs.

Dog and Alpaca Visit Studio for Photo Shoot

Scout is a versatile dog. In addition to alpacas, she adores riding in the car, exploring new restaurants, shopping in big-box stores, and being loved on by people whom she has never met before. All of which makes her the perfect (dare I say pyrfect) candidate, for visiting Jennifer Lindberg Studio in the middle of town square, during the hubbub of Market Days.  

So why did we take these two to Lockhart to have their picture taken? Because Scout saved Brogyn’s life when he was born prematurely. He is our miracle cria, born a month too early to a mama whose milk would not drop. Brogyn would never have walked down Main Street if not for my girl Scout. Actually, he might never have walked at all if Scout had not trained me to come to her.

Premature Cria! And the Dog Who Helped Save Him

This month, seven years ago, around 6pm, I went outside and could not find Scout. I had learned much about country living during her first two years with us. For instance, I now know that if she does not come when I call her, something is very wrong. So, I went looking for Scout.

I don’t know exactly how many emergency trips to the vet we made with Scout before this particular evening. There were several though. I remember her injured shoulder, her bloody paw, bee stings to the INSIDE of her mouth, and the scariest; she had already been bitten by a rattlesnake two separate times before she was 18 months old. By now, I had learned to tell the difference between Scout’s playful bark, her bored bark, her bark that announces visitors, and the dreaded “danger!” bark that can take us from dead asleep to armed and standing in the yard in 5.3 seconds. So, that evening in March of 2016, I thought “here we go again”.

I found Scout up on the hill, in the alpaca pasture. She was lying next to a white plastic bag. The kind your groceries are sacked in at the local HEB or Walmart. Only this bag was wet and still, not even blowing in the wind. At first, I thought maybe she had eaten something she shouldn’t have. The way she was lying next to that bag, quiet and still…  Maybe she was too sick to move, you know? I ran to her, calling her name, “Scout. Scout!”.

Help for the Living “Plastic Bag”

Scout stayed put next to the plastic bag. Only it wasn’t a bag at all. It was a cria. A wet, unmoving baby alpaca. His skin, cold to my touch, was almost translucent. His eyes were closed, but his heart was faintly beating. Mama alpaca, Meg, had given birth a month early! Speaking of Meg, she was standing about 10 feet away, trying to pass the afterbirth, while Scout refused to leave her cria’s side.

Though a healthy size, Wynley Park’s new baby was barely responsive. I panicked for a moment. Charley was out of town. He and I had taken a 4-hour course on assisted birthing for alpacas a few months prior. We had worked so hard to plan for this little dude’s birth. The first cria of Wynley Park! In addition to the baby-birthing clinic we had attended, we had lined up a vet willing to treat alpacas. Plus, we had experienced alpaca farmers to mentor us. We had even packed a baby bag. We were ready. The cria duffle bag! I remembered and ran to the garage to get it.

I grabbed the baby bag filled with gloves, iodine, thermometer, gauze, karo syrup, syringes, heating pad, clean towels… “I need to call our mentors”, I said to no one but me. I reached for my phone in my back pocket. Nope. No phone in my back pocket. No phone in any of my pockets. I raced to the house to find my phone. Got it. The duffle bag bumped between my shoulder blades as I ran back up the hill, trying to catch my breath, scroll through my contacts and avoid tripping in holes, simultaneously.

Calling On Neighbors For Help

I then called a neighbor who is a veterinarian tech. She did not answer, so I left her a message about our premature newborn. Boy, was my adrenaline pumping now. My heart raced as I checked our little cria’s airway and began rubbing to warm him. I settled myself, consciously taking deep, calming breaths.

We Got This

Scout’s eyes remained locked on the crumpled heap of white fur, pale pink skin and long skinny legs. Mama Meg stood over me, humming her encouragement. Over her, the sun was setting into beautiful orange and reds. In that moment, we were no longer just alpaca, dog, human. We were the same. We shared the same language: a parent’s love. Three fierce mamas determined to save one tiny baby.

Peace washed over me as I appreciated the beauty of this moment. Meg was a proven mother, meaning she had birthed and reared healthy crias in the past. Also, our mentor friends were on their way. I had prepared for this. Time was around 7:30pm, they should be here any minute, before dark, for sure. “I got this”, I thought. This first cria represented the growth of our farm. This is what we had been planning, creating, longing for. This was country living! This gal’s heart was full.

“I got this”, I thought. But I didn’t know any better. I had been raised a city girl. I had witnessed the birth of one foal and numerous kittens. Neither had prepared me for the perils of a baby animal too weak to stand and a mama whose milk will not drop. I knew enough to dip his umbilical cord in iodine. So, I did what I knew to do and waited for our mentor friends.

Help On The Way: Mentors, Neighbors and Docs

Forever later (about 30 minutes) they arrived. Our two mentors had experienced many cria births. They were sure everything would be fine. We moved Meg and cria to the garage where we could properly clean Meg and remove her waxy plugs. We gave her an injection of oxytocin to draw down her milk. We weighed cria, finished drying him with a hair dryer and stood him next to Meg’s teat. Still no milk. Colostrum for baby’s first nutrient is crucial and must happen within the first 24 hours in order for him to get those important infection fighting immunoglobins. The longer he waited to nurse, the weaker he would become.

Around 8:30, I called Charley to let him know that our alpacas had not, apparently, been apprised of the Wynley Park birthing plan. In 2016, Charley was on active duty. He had been stationed at an army base located just about an hour and a half away, which was nice because he could come home fairly quickly if I needed him. I needed him. “I’ll be there as soon as I can”, he assured me. I informed our fuzzy white stuffed-animal-come-to-life newborn who was cushed on a heating pad between my legs, that he would soon be meeting his human dad.  

The Fifth One in the Garage

By 10pm, our mentors had gone home. They had helped immensely, but they had their own animals to tend. They promised to check on us in the morning. Cria was weakening. Meg’s milk still had not come in. Just the four of us were left in that garage: me, Scout, Meg, and the cria who had us all worried. I realized what was missing. Four hours had passed since finding this newborn. I had called friends; I had called Charley. I had failed to call out to the One who should have been first.

Always God

Humbled and a little embarrassed, I bowed my head, “Hey Dad. It’s me, WynnerB. I know that you rejoice in each of your creations. As I sit here in this garage, with a gorgeous alpaca quietly eating hay behind me, another snuggled in my lap, and my girl Scout resting her head on my ankle, I believe. This is but a glimpse of the perfection that is You. I thank you for instilling in me your love of the furry four-leg-eds.

Please forgive me for relying on my own wits, when I know to rely on your strength first. I feel such a heavy responsibility for them. In my desire to save this baby, I have forgotten the most important thing. You. I ask your forgiveness. Forgive me for pride masquerading as self-sufficiency. This situation is beyond my ability.

Please intervene. I ask you to bring mother and child together to nurse. I ask you to make these animals healthy, to let them live. Should this baby not survive, I will remember that even short lives are meaningful. Should he pass tonight, thank you for letting me make him comfortable. Give me tools to comfort his mom. Thy will be done Lord. On earth as it is in heaven. Amen.”   

Answered Prayer

My little dude was curled up in my lap when my phone rang. My neighbor was driving by and saw that the garage light was still on. “Do you mind if I stop in?” she asked. She was welcome, of course, “Come on in”.

In walked God’s miracle, in the form of my vet tech neighbor. She pulled up a camp chair and said, “Look, I know nothing about alpacas. I do know horses. Your baby is starving. If this were a foal, he would not survive the night without that colostrum.” “Do you want to try to get him medical attention?” “I can make a few calls, see if anyone answers…”, she said.  “If you want me to”. “Yes!” a thousand yeses. Then Charley arrived.

Caring, Knowledgeable Veterinarians Help Cria

Thirty minutes later, Meg was in the trailer. Cria and I sat in the back of the SUV as Charley drove us to an animal hospital known as one of the best for treating horses and cows. Only horses and cows. The founding partner rarely made exceptions to his policy.

We met my neighbor, who was unlocking the clinic doors. Next to her stood not one, but two sleepy-eyed vets, Dr. Norton and Dr. Box. Charley carried cria down a long, dark hallway, closely followed by our humming Meg.

An oversized automatic door hissed open, and we entered a blindingly bright room. It was spotless white and enormous. A row of cabinets housing medical supplies lined one wall. Next to it, an IV pole and some sort of contraption on wheels. To take images, maybe? In the opposite corner was a slightly raised platform with short padded walls and fence separating it from the rest of the room; a horse-sized crib. This state-of-the-art NICU for foals would be Brogyn and Meg’s home for the next 36 hours. Minutes later, baby is getting fluids via an IV in his neck. Meg is munching alfalfa. Goat colostrum is being flown in. The next morning, little dude is standing on his own.

Meg’s milk finally came in. She and her baby spent a couple more days in the open-air barn where foals and calves go to heal before going home. Our alpacas came home too.

While in school, Dr. Norton had written her thesis on specialized care requirements of camelids. She had been treating large animals for 10 years. Dr. Box, who was wrapping up his internship at the hospital, had raised and shown llamas in 4H as a teenager. In 2016, camelids were pretty rare in this part of Texas. In fact, the nearest camelid vet was an hour and 22-minute drive away. Yet, here we were, 2AM, thirteen minutes from home, with possibly the only two vets in the vicinity who had the knowledge, compassion and access to goat colostrum to save a cria who had gone without sustenance for eight hours. This is called a God wink.

Neighboring the Country Way

It is also country living. Research shows what Charley and I learned within a few weeks of moving to the country. Country folk have your back. Rural folks know most, if not all of their neighbors. The Pew Research Center found that about 50% of those of us living in the country know our neighbors. The percentage is much higher than suburban folks, 28% of whom know their neighbors. Urban folks are even less connected to neighbors, at 24%. https://www.pewresearch.org/social-trends/2018/05/22/how-urban-suburban-and-rural-residents-interact-with-their-neighbors/

Out here in the middle of nowhere, we may go a week with hardly more interaction than a wave. Need something though, and at least one will answer the call; sometimes before you even make it. When a neighbor’s fence breaks, we chase the cows back in, repair the hole and pierce a handwritten note to the barbed wire. Neighbors watch for unknown or suspicious looking cars when one of us is out of town or expecting an amazon package. We take turns catching and rehoming cats and dogs left abandoned on the side of road. We’ll help you stack hay, deliver a meal, loan a tractor, and some very special neighbors make phone calls in the middle of the night to save your very first cria.

I think this is the kind of neighbor God intends for us; the kind of neighbor country people are. I am not so good at asking for assistance. While I am happy to help, I wait until I am asked. I guess I worry too much about imposing, either through offering or asking it, myself. Humans are designed to need each other though. Basically, there are many good reasons as to why we should ask each other for help. Aubrey Hoeppner says there are 3 Reasons Why Asking for Help Is Honoring to God – https://openthebible.org/article/three-reasons-why-asking-for-help-is-honoring-to-god/#:~:text=God%20wants%20us%20to%20help,share%20Christ’s%20love%20with%20you.

Obviously, combining our differing strengths and abilities allows for more sufficiency than my self-sufficiency ever could. In this way, we are like herd animals, I guess. Looking out for our neighbors is the Christian way. Subsequently, allowing ourselves to be looked out for is also the Christian way as it reminds us of our vulnerability. By making us see that we need each other, God reminds us that we are indeed needy. He humbles us in effort to draw us near; to encourage us to rely on him first. I am once again awed at how God meets me wherever I am, using these critters I love to draw me closer to him and the truths of his existence.

Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. – Galatians 6:2