Bev Doolittle Llamma

When I was a kid, my friend and I spent an entire summer trying to catch a feral horse who, in the end, won the battle of wits and lived out his life on the North Edge of Nowhere. For years after that we would see him once in a while as our school bus would careen past his stompin' ground. If he had had hands, the thumbs would have been in his ears, his fingers wiggling and his tongue stuck out.

Now at the Homestead, there seems to be a Llama who is taking the same route to freedom. Jailbreak.

I have no idea where this Llama came from. My best guess is about 4 or 5 miles over the back hill, where there are more houses. He is not from around here, but he has decided he belongs here. He has been popping up every couple of months for a year now. He hangs out in the woods at the back of the Homestead, mostly on the neighbors side where the road to town winds down through Christmas trees and second growth timber, and NO fences.
He grazes along until he hears my car coming, his white head pops up and he skitters to the shadows and watches me pass by. If I slow down or look too long at him, he beats it into the dense woods. I guess he's not taking any chances of being re-domesticated!