“As it happens, the first souvenir I bought was a dried llama fetus. Revolting as it may sound, my poor stillborn llama is actually rather cute. Frozen in the fetal position and dried stiff like beef jerky, it has the gentle, smiling face of a camel and plenty of soft, if slightly formaldehyde-scented, fur. I bought the llama fetus partly because it horrified me, but also for educational purposes, so that my eight-year-old daughter Sophia could show it to her class. (She refused.)Bolivians buy llama fetuses to ward off evil in its many guises. Bolivian miners—who, with a life expectancy of forty-five years, basically live their entire adult lives dying—look to llama fetuses for protection against dynamite explosions and the lung-destroying silicon particulates they inhale all day. Downing high-proof alcohol also helps. “The purer the alcohol, the purer the minerals I find,” one miner told me wryly.”
“If we all end up as llamas, I’m going to spend the rest of my life following you around saying ‘I told you so’ in llama-ese.”
“I am the Love Camel of Llama Land. Come, hop on my hump and let me lead you to water.”
“Men. You can't live with them...and you can't legally shoot them. I tossed out my husband eight years ago and got a llama instead. Best decision I ever made.”
“There is nothin like a llama... well mabey an alpaca. But they'er kinda like trademarks of llamas...”
“She had a picture of a llama, so under it I wrote, “I didn’t know you knew my brother.”