Photo: The Llama Sanctuary

Meadow is recovering at the Llama Sanctuary.

A local llama is recovering following a bear attack earlier this month that left her with brutal injuries and meant her llama friend had to be euthanized.

Meadow, who survived the attack with injuries to a back leg and her rump, is now living at the Llama Sanctuary south of Chase.

David Chapman, who co-manages the sanctuary with Lynne Milsom, says they were able to pick up the injured llama several days after the attack, outside of Coldstream.

"She was in a very poor state," Chapman tells Castanet. "She had pretty serious maggot infested injures on her rump and tail."

The were called about Meadow by concerned neighbours in early October; apparently the attack had occurred a few days earlier and a veterinarian had been called. They had euthanized Meadow's companion and given the injured llama some antibiotics. Meadow was left in the field, barely able to walk.

After being alerted to Meadow, Chapman and Milsom were able to get permission from Meadow's keeper, who was happy to let them take her.

While Meadow, who's about nine years old, hasn't been handled much, Chapman says she was very compliant with the pair, who brought her back to the sanctuary where around 40 other llamas and alpacas are currently living.

"We dressed her wounds and set her up with a little place she can call her own," he says, noting she seems like a very bright llama.

Meadow is now in an isolation ward with other new arrivals. He says her injuries are doing well, but it'll take her the whole winter to recover properly and she may never be rehomed.

"The injuries on her back and her tail are doing well now," he says. "She seems to have a torn ligament in her leg that’s going to take a long time to heal."

The leg injury means she has difficulty standing.

"She hobbles around," Chapman explains. "She’s integrated with some of the others."

They have specialized ways of caring for llamas at the sanctuary; for Meadow, they're using ozonated olive oil, which keeps the wound from drying out and keeps the flies away. They can't cover the wound with a bandage; llamas will rub against a tree or something to remove it. They anticipate spending another $1,000 feeding and caring for Meadow over the winter.

While they're happy to care for the wounded llama, the expense isn't ideal. Chapman notes they're in a tight financial situation with COVID-19 impacting their bottom line.

The sanctuary takes in llamas from fields and properties, helps rehabilitate them and then rehomes them if that's possible. An "eclectic" group are permanent residents.

"We have a couple blind ones, a deaf one, some are severely crippled or have behavioural problems," he says. "(There are) some that have been extremely traumatized."

A couple, he notes, are scared of open spaces; a few others are too elderly to be rehomed and are retirees.

The sanctuary started in 2005 when Chapman and Milsom, who are originally from England, learned a llama living near them was going to be killed. They were told if they could catch him they could keep him.

"He just allowed himself to be caught," Chapman says. They named him Tomburke, after Milsom's father.

Two more were offered to them a little while later, and things grew from there.

"We had no idea we were starting a sanctuary," he tells Castanet. "We just fell in love with them."

As their impromptu herd grew, they realized there was an issue they were helping solve.

"Llamas had been introduced in about 1990 as a super money-earning business," Chapman explains.

Breeders were able to sell llamas for up to $50,000. However, when the smaller, easier-to-handle alpacas arrived, things changed. It didn't help llamas have an unwarranted reputation for being unruly, Chapman adds.

People began to give their llamas away, and those who gained a llama for free didn't know how to take care of a large domesticated camelid that often lives to be 25. Nutritional issues, like a lack of proper minerals, was a concern for many and can leave a llama crippled (Meadow appears to have been given cow minerals, Chapman notes, and that's left her with a spine issue).

"Then people can’t find homes for them," Chapman says. "People released some into the wild. There was apparently a herd roaming above Vernon."

There's also the fact that llamas aren't native to the area and have difficulty finding food.

Others have been released into unfenced areas or have been left at properties when the property owner moved away.

"They've joined the cats and dogs, horse and donkeys of the world now," Chapman says. "We realized there was a need for some sort of organized effort to assist alpacas and llamas."

The Llama Sanctuary has filled the void as a place for llamas to live and recover. While they have some permanent residents, many others are rehomed after their stay.

Usually, the sanctuary allows visitors, and educates them about llamas. Chapman says the public perception of llamas as being unfriendly and spitting isn't accurate. While they're able to spit, as a defence mechanism, they don't like to.

"It’s like a stun grenade," he says, explaining it leaves them slack jawed and drooling. "It stuns them as well."

Chapman says those interested in helping cover the coast of Meadow's care and the operation of the sanctuary can donate online.

For more information, click here.