Our time with Krash not long enough

Uncle Krash

By David Horst   sandhill7@gmail.com

I'm working on another cedar box.

This isn't for a planter or storing blankets. It's for an old friend.

Krash had been with us for 22 years. He was our second llama, a companion for our first purchase, Comet, because llamas are herd animals and aren't happy alone.

Krash earned his name. When he was a little cria on a llama farm in Cedarburg, his owners were walking some potential buyers along the pasture fence. A group of small llamas was coming at them from the other direction. The youngsters peeled off to either side of the approaching humans, except for one. Krash ran straight on. His tendency to be clumsy stayed with him.

His full name was Sharden's Krash Kradick. The farm's name combined with a spelling-altered version of a country singer's name.

He was far short of a herd sire. His ears were too long. His wool was too thin. His legs too skinny. He didn't measure up to conformation standards, but he was long on personality -- and loyalty.

We called him Uncle Krash, for the way he would watch over young llamas born on our farm. When another llama was sick or injured, he stood watch faithfully.

He also was our alarm caller. When something didn't look right at the edge of the pasture -- maybe a passing deer or a ferocious turtle -- he would belt out a whinnying noise to alert the herd.

Ever watchful

That's all missing now.

He took sick in February and slowly got worse. Like the loss of our herd matriarch, Truffula, last year, Krash passed when the ground was frozen solid. Burying is not an option. And the usual way for lost livestock -- a truck that hauls your animal away to become glue and who knows what -- was never considered.

We found a pet crematorium in Green Bay when we lost Truffula. Her remains are in a home-built cedar box. It soon will have a companion.

Krash was not livestock. He was somewhere between that and the family dog. And he was my wife's favorite.

He had an impacted tooth, which led to infection, and then the spread of infection. For his last four days, he couldn't stand up, but he ate his grain and hay enthusiastically and didn't appear to be in pain. He wore a blue blanket constantly that my wife had draped over him to guard a little against the frigid cold.

Mostly, he was a nearly 23-year-old llama. He was at the high end of a llama's life expectancy. But he still had that spark of life in his eyes, nearly to the end. We sat with him into the frigid night, knowing he'd be gone by morning.

We are more affected by his loss than are the llamas. The herd moves on.

I've said it too many times before. Every pet we lose leaves a scar. The old wounds add a weight that we keep on carrying.

We had his companionship for 22 years. Eventually, those memories swallow up the ones from his final hours. Then we will remember Uncle Krash the guardian, the comic, lovable and loving Krash Man.