They’re gone.

All my beautiful girls are gone. We put them on a truck Wednesday morning.

All my cute cria are gone. I carried them onto the truck to join their mothers.

My sweet Georgia who gives me kisses and her gentle daughter Anna are gone. On the truck with the others.

There are no alpacas in the front pasture.

The girls have a new home in Tennessee.

Some are going to be bred, while others are going to new homes. I expect I’ll see some of them again some day. Some I’m scared I’ll never see again. If I do see them again, will Emma and Morghan curiously sniff my hat? Will Georgia still give me kisses?

Tears well in my eyes every time I think about it. I feel like my cheeks are a tributary of the North Umpqua.

Some time ago, we decided to get out of the day to day business of raising alpacas. It was a very tough decision to make, and it’s proved an even tougher decision to implement. Keeping this blog positive since the decision has been hard – note how few posts I’ve made in the past month. At times I have felt almost hypocritical, praising my alpacas while knowing I’m getting out of the business.

Every time I look at the front pasture, tears threaten. When I come home from work and instinctively look for the girls – they’re not there. When I glance at the pasture and see no alpacas, I instinctively check the shed – and they’re not in the shed either. My first reaction is panic. Second is tears.

We don’t have human children. Those alpacas are our babies.

Last Wednesday, my babies got on a truck. Today, they’re frolicking in a new pasture in Tennessee.

And I’m crying a river of tears.