Pictured at 17 years of age
Ayni
June 14, 2002 - June 29, 2025
Everyone who has been fortunate enough to have many animals in their life knows that some leave more of an impact than others. Like that teacher, that childhood friend, or that grandparent... Ayni is one of those animals for me. She lived 23 years, 22 of those years in my care.
I was 13 years old when Ayni arrived as a yearling from Nevada. It was a very different llama market from the one we have today. The bursting of the speculative bubble and over-breeding in the ‘90s led to an imbalance of supply and demand. Many large herds were liquidated, compounding the issue. Ayni’s owner offered a very enticing deal: a large group of llamas were offered for $0 up front, and half the money from the sale of their first two babies. Most were full Peruvian, many came from Hinterland genetics. My brother Jacob got several, as did other wise NW breeders. One of those wise breeders was Stan Jacobs, a friend and mentor to Jacob (and me as I tagged along with Jacob). When we got the list of available llamas in Nevada Jacob encouraged me to reserve Ayni, a 100% Peruvian, long-necked daughter of the Hinterland-bred Na Pali. When we inquired about the ones we wanted, we found out that Ayni had been reserved already, by Stan. Jacob and Stan drove down together to pick up a load of llamas, and Stan generously relinquished his claim so I could have her. I can still remember Jacob calling me from the truck to say how good looking she was, in the background Stan repeatedly said “You owe me!” with his booming voice. I still owe him.
I sold Ayni’s first several crias. The first two because I was contractually obligated, the next couple because I was too young and dumb to realize that llamas are more fun than money. Around daughter number five I realized I had something special and stopped parting with them. She eventually gave birth to eleven females and one male.
This powerful female allowed my younger self to feel like I was good at breeding llamas. Looking back at her production it’s pretty clear I could have bred her to anything; there was nothing special I was doing. But believing in yourself is a powerfully positive thing, and Ayni gave that to me. She goes right alongside my brother Jacob, my parents, grandparents, and my early 4-H llama Comanche as the primary reason that being around llamas is such a big part of my life.
Aside from Ayni’s bias toward daughters, the other special trait I saw over time was her exceptional conformation as she aged. From age 15-21 farm visitors were always shocked when I told them how old she was. Her top line, pasterns, and general good looks passed for a llama 7-8 years old at most. Her fiber was fine and usable into her teens. I learned how valuable it was to watch a foundation female age into their later years, as you keep offspring and make them a cornerstone of your herd.
We generally don’t feed our herd pellets, but Ayni started to have teeth problems and needed them. I built a little plywood divider for her to eat without others sneaking out of her dish. The herd respected the arrangement, or respected their elder. She rarely needed to do more than give one a mean glance.
Ayni always had a pleasant personality, but she liked her space from people and other llamas. Sometimes when I let the animals on a new pasture, as the herd sprinted toward the new grass Ayni would be more excited to get some alone time in the old pasture. She was rarely one to spit when I did something she didn’t like, shearing for example, she would swish her tail as if she was getting rid of a pesky fly. The last year-or-so she has started to look her age. She spent most of her time laying down, and had a gentle sway back and forth when she stood. Towards the end she sometimes took a tumble onto her side and needed my help to stand up. Within about two weeks time, this went from a couple times a week, to a couple times a day, to needing to keep a constant eye on her to make sure she wasn’t stuck. I’d push her upright, she’d stumble to her feet and give a swish of her tail. Finally, she couldn’t stand at all and I accepted the obvious that her time had come. On a very difficult morning I gave her some grain, said a few words of thanks, and said goodbye. She gave one last swish of her tail, waving away the problems of her advanced age, and moved on to greener pastures.
It will be strange to not see her out with the herd. She has been a part of my life longer than anyone except my immediate family. But through her daughters, granddaughters, great-grand daughters and so on she’ll always be a part of things here. Thank you, Ayni.
June 14, 2002 - June 29, 2025
Everyone who has been fortunate enough to have many animals in their life knows that some leave more of an impact than others. Like that teacher, that childhood friend, or that grandparent... Ayni is one of those animals for me. She lived 23 years, 22 of those years in my care.
I was 13 years old when Ayni arrived as a yearling from Nevada. It was a very different llama market from the one we have today. The bursting of the speculative bubble and over-breeding in the ‘90s led to an imbalance of supply and demand. Many large herds were liquidated, compounding the issue. Ayni’s owner offered a very enticing deal: a large group of llamas were offered for $0 up front, and half the money from the sale of their first two babies. Most were full Peruvian, many came from Hinterland genetics. My brother Jacob got several, as did other wise NW breeders. One of those wise breeders was Stan Jacobs, a friend and mentor to Jacob (and me as I tagged along with Jacob). When we got the list of available llamas in Nevada Jacob encouraged me to reserve Ayni, a 100% Peruvian, long-necked daughter of the Hinterland-bred Na Pali. When we inquired about the ones we wanted, we found out that Ayni had been reserved already, by Stan. Jacob and Stan drove down together to pick up a load of llamas, and Stan generously relinquished his claim so I could have her. I can still remember Jacob calling me from the truck to say how good looking she was, in the background Stan repeatedly said “You owe me!” with his booming voice. I still owe him.
I sold Ayni’s first several crias. The first two because I was contractually obligated, the next couple because I was too young and dumb to realize that llamas are more fun than money. Around daughter number five I realized I had something special and stopped parting with them. She eventually gave birth to eleven females and one male.
This powerful female allowed my younger self to feel like I was good at breeding llamas. Looking back at her production it’s pretty clear I could have bred her to anything; there was nothing special I was doing. But believing in yourself is a powerfully positive thing, and Ayni gave that to me. She goes right alongside my brother Jacob, my parents, grandparents, and my early 4-H llama Comanche as the primary reason that being around llamas is such a big part of my life.
Aside from Ayni’s bias toward daughters, the other special trait I saw over time was her exceptional conformation as she aged. From age 15-21 farm visitors were always shocked when I told them how old she was. Her top line, pasterns, and general good looks passed for a llama 7-8 years old at most. Her fiber was fine and usable into her teens. I learned how valuable it was to watch a foundation female age into their later years, as you keep offspring and make them a cornerstone of your herd.
We generally don’t feed our herd pellets, but Ayni started to have teeth problems and needed them. I built a little plywood divider for her to eat without others sneaking out of her dish. The herd respected the arrangement, or respected their elder. She rarely needed to do more than give one a mean glance.
Ayni always had a pleasant personality, but she liked her space from people and other llamas. Sometimes when I let the animals on a new pasture, as the herd sprinted toward the new grass Ayni would be more excited to get some alone time in the old pasture. She was rarely one to spit when I did something she didn’t like, shearing for example, she would swish her tail as if she was getting rid of a pesky fly. The last year-or-so she has started to look her age. She spent most of her time laying down, and had a gentle sway back and forth when she stood. Towards the end she sometimes took a tumble onto her side and needed my help to stand up. Within about two weeks time, this went from a couple times a week, to a couple times a day, to needing to keep a constant eye on her to make sure she wasn’t stuck. I’d push her upright, she’d stumble to her feet and give a swish of her tail. Finally, she couldn’t stand at all and I accepted the obvious that her time had come. On a very difficult morning I gave her some grain, said a few words of thanks, and said goodbye. She gave one last swish of her tail, waving away the problems of her advanced age, and moved on to greener pastures.
It will be strange to not see her out with the herd. She has been a part of my life longer than anyone except my immediate family. But through her daughters, granddaughters, great-grand daughters and so on she’ll always be a part of things here. Thank you, Ayni.
