Blue Heron Farm Alpacas

On Sunday morning, September 28th, four days after her due date, Gazelle started to deliver her cria. When I went to check on her about 11 am, something was happening. In fact, something, encased in a shiny membrane, was emerging from under her tail. I felt like Prissy in Gone With the Wind: I don't know nothin' 'bout birthing babies, Miss Scarlett!

I looked closer, which wasn't easy, because Gazelle, who had been lying down, got up and moved away when I approached. The baby's head and a good six inches of neck were out. But no front feet. Not good. I called the Rosenblooms and got the answering machine. I called the vet's emergency number and was told they would page the doctor and he would call back. But I know he lives at least 30 minutes away. I ran next door to get my neighbor Pat, because this was not going to be a one-person job. Together, we were able to get Gazelle to lie down, and Pat held her head and kept her still. I had my birthing emergency kit handy-- betadyne scrub, basin, KY jelly, gloves, paper towels, assembled following the instructions in the book Llama and Alpaca Neonatal Care, which also had instructions on how to deal with a dystocia: a birth requiring assistance.

In June, I had attended a dystocia seminar at Heidi and Jim Kittrell's farm in Greenville, and we had practiced reaching inside a garbage bag, held partially closed, to determine the position of a (stillborn) cria and try to correct it, practice that certainly stood me in good stead (although a garbage bag is a lot more commodious than the insides of a mama alpaca!).

So I gloved up, slathered my hand and arm with lubricant, and reached in. Back along the neck to the shoulder -- where's the leg? There it is -- neatly folded at the elbow. I had to straighten it out -- doubled over it wouldn't fit through the birth canal. So I pushed to get the shoulder and leg back into the uterus where there should be room to unfold it. Push, pull, push, pull-- no progress. It seemed to be taking forever. How long before there was damage to Gazelle or the baby? The book said that once delivery starts, the cria should be out in less than 60 minutes, preferably 30. How long had it been? The effort was distinctly aerobic, and I was panting. I withdrew my hand and called the vet again, angry at the answering service: Why hadn't the doctor called? Where was he? I might lose mother and baby both! She'd page him again.

A new glove and more lubricant. Another try. I had the little hoof in my grasp and finally, miraculously, I was able to straighten the leg and pull it out, next to the head.  I rested for a minute, then we rolled Gazelle over to her other side, so the other leg would be on top of the neck. Throughout, the cria had been actively breathing, and I had removed the membrane from around its face. Again a battle with the tiny leg-- was I risking breaking the leg in the effort to unfold it? But then finally, I got it straightened, too. Now the aborning cria looked like the illustration in the book -- one head and two legs presenting. We managed to get Gazelle onto her feet, thinking that gravity might help to complete the delivery.  But there didn't seem to be much progress, and I was worried the labor had gone on too long. So I started to pull, gently, back and down on those fragile legs. From my angle, I couldn't tell when she was having a contraction, but Pat, still at her head, could, so I tried to work with the contractions, and pretty soon the cria slid free and I eased it onto the ground.



Now my phone burped, alerting me to two messages, both from the vet. Apparently I was in a dead zone, and my phone hadn't rung. I called him back, and got him just as he was heading out the door since he hadn't been able to reach me. I said everything looked okay to me, but that I would call back if necessary.

Twenty minutes later the little girl-- her umbilicus disinfected according to instructions -- wobbled to her feet, an amazing and utterly hilarious process. I managed to weigh her and came up with 16 pounds, give or take; anything over 12 is normal and healthy. Gazelle was paying very close attention -- she's going to be a great mother. A couple of hours later, Gazelle delivered the placenta, and then she allowed the cria to nurse, and she seemed to get the hang of it right away. A week later, my weight guestimate is 26.5 pounds, so she is clearly eating just fine. She's a beautiful, long-legged, long-necked brunette, and I've named her Audrey Hepburn. (Officially, she's Blue Heron Farm's Funny Face since Audrey Hepburn was already registered to someone else.)