Let me preface this by saying that mother llamas are supposed to be able to delay birthing for at least a day if the weather conditions aren’t ideal. Last week was mild and sunny. The day after the baby was born was mild and sunny. And this was the day Pampérigouste decided was ideal:
I know, I know, it was her first and she didn't really know what was happening. Neither did I, at first, but I became worried as the morning went on and Pampe was still in her pasture. She hadn't tried to escape once and I wasn't sure how to handle this situation. I started following her around, hoping she wasn't planning on having a child today because it was pouring with icy rain and just, Pampe, no.
She looked distracted and melancholy and had zero patience for baby Pyrgus. Around 1pm I saw her pawing at the ground, like horses do when they feel colicky. I resigned myself to the fact that she had indeed decided to give birth in the icy rain, and went to get some straw and a shovel to prepare the shelter—Pirlouit had been in there all morning so there was a bit of dung.
Speaking of—I mentioned yesterday that llamas like to poop in the same place, on a communal dung pile; when I returned to Pampe, she had positioned herself above the dung pile, having decided she probably just needed to poop. I pushed her away to a cleaner spot like no, sweetheart, come on, use your brain. Have you NO instinct at all?
I went to lock Pandolf in the barn so he wouldn't bother her, and brought back more straw for the shelter, then saw that Pampe had chosen a new spot to give birth: literally the steepest slope in her pasture. She was going to drop her baby there and watch it tumble down the slope all the way to the torrent. I sighed and pushed her to a better spot once again.
Walking around seemed to hasten the process a bit, and when she resumed her birthing position (standing up, legs open) there were tiny little hooves poking out. I crouched down a few metres away and watched, with the rain getting worse and colder by the minute. By the time the baby's head and legs were out, Pampe was very bored and wanted to give up. She came to join me and started nosing at my coat, plucking little bits of straw.
I thought the baby couldn't be comfortable with its head hanging out like that, so I went and helped a bit, gently pulling on its feet, and Pampe started pushing again, and I pulled a bit more every time she pushed and then it was over in a few minutes. Since mother llamas give birth standing up, the last part looks pretty brutal, with the poor baby's first experience of the outside world consisting (from its point of view) in being unceremoniously dropped from a first-story window.
By then Pampe had definitely lost interest and she started to graze. I'd read somewhere that this was normal, that she would figure out what had just happened when the baby got up and started nursing. I wiped some bits of amniotic sac off the baby's nose and mouth and made sure it was breathing, then moved away and waited to see if it would try to get up. It did not. It looked confused and absolutely miserable and the rain had started to turn into snow.
I had planned on waiting until it could walk then lead Pampe to the shelter with the baby following along, but it looked so cold and shivery I ended up taking this little slimy thing in my arms and carrying it to the shelter, with Pampe following curiously. She didn't look offended about the kidnapping, just "not sure what this thing is, I guess I'll stay with you and find out."
Baby's first blep! I started rubbing her baby giraffe dry while Pampe delivered the placenta—she accidentally stepped on it immediately afterwards. She watched the amniotic fluid pool around her feet with baffled disgust, then stared at me like what is this. Why would you bring my baby to this unhygienic place.
I went to fetch my shovel again, and some clean straw, and some hay; the hay then attracted more llamas. Pirlouit was trying to fight them for his share of the hay and was annoying Pampe, so I evicted him from the shelter and penned him (right next to us so he wouldn't feel excluded.) (I always feel like I'm trying to kill a Sim when I trap my donkey by building a small pen around him)
Baby finally tried to get up! I was starting to worry that it still hadn't suckled. I went to get Pandolf (who wants to feel included too) and by the time I returned baby was up and nursing energetically :)
Pyrgus looked so intrigued! And I think quite happy to meet another llama child like him.
In the evening Pampe tried to leave the shelter several times (despite Pirlouit still being penned and her having it all to herself) and I carried her baby back in every time, stubbornly, because I really wanted this poor spindly thing to spend its first night on a bed of dry straw and not out in the elements. It was snowing hard by then and my clothes had been soaking wet all day and I desperately wanted to be home drying up in front of a fire—and I bet your baby felt the same! why must you always make things difficult for everyone Pampe.
^ Me complaining about Pampérigouste being an obstinate and contrary camelid as always. But when it got dark she finally relented and accepted to lie down next to her baby in the shelter, and they were still in there in the early morning when I checked on them.
Here's Baby the next morning, all dry and warm and having an 11am nap after nursing <3
It's a girl :) and a heavy sleeper...!
Epilogue: Pampe is now a very attentive mother and talks to her daughter constantly (with gentle llama hums). Pirlouit has been freed and has inspected every centimetre of his shelter suspiciously (the llamas hardly ever use it, Pirlouit definitely considers it his, and must have wondered why Pampe decided to rent it for one night.) Baby doesn't have a name yet, I'm working on it... She looks like she is wearing a turtleneck onesie and a cute little cap at the back of her head.
I hope this wasn't too boring! Welcome to the world little girl <3
romaincrisis
snowghoul
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