This is Magnet, may he rest in peace. He was my mother’s pet for a while, along with his brother, Laredo. He liked to ride in the back of the van and stick his head out the window. He spit a lot. He wasn’t particularly snuggly and he could be hard to catch. He liked my parents, though, but llamas and cats share a lot of personality traits, especially the aloofness.
So there you go: write about Magnet. Good inspiration, huh?
Try to write for at least five minutes.
He would stand in the yard and stare. Four acres to ramble and he’d choose one spot, listening perhaps, for a long time. Then he’d move from tree to tree, plucking the sweetest foliage. When the roses bloomed, he’d gorge himself unless Mom remembered to tie him up. Roses were his favorite.
His brother died long before he did, so he was alone except for two dogs he did not care for. There were chickens in the yard. I’m sure he found them interesting.
It was a triumph if he’d let me touch him. Not the face–you never touch a llama’s face–but the soft neck or the rough wool on his shoulders. Mom could touch him, Dad could touch him, but he rarely allowed me. I’d lean forward in greeting, breathing into his face and waiting for him to breathe into mine–a llama’s version of hello. If I could catch him I sometimes held him tight, letting him know that he was mine, though of course he wasn’t. If he wanted to get away, he could have. He was old, but still mostly muscle.