I didn’t like that stick in the first place. It felt splintery and unpleasant to hold in my hand, and I tried to divert Malachi with other, smoother sticks, but she was very much attached to this one. Perhaps it was the right size for her mouth or had the perfect biting consistency, whatever the reason she wouldn’t be fobbed off. In hindsight, I wish I had been firmer and discarded the treasured stick instead of falling in with the game of throw and catch.

Little Sasha and old Jaz were with out with us; we were taking a gentle walk in the sunshine to the fields above the original farmhouse. Jaz rolled in the long grass and buttercups and Sasha, never too far away, came up to her now and then for a reassuring lick and kiss. Malachi, sensing it was the others’ turn to have special attention, gave up the game for a while and sat in the shaded grass by the fence while I petted Jaz and Sasha. It seemed idyllic…

We were about to return to the farm when Malachi produced the nasty stick again and placed it in front of me. I didn’t throw it far. She didn’t even catch it in her mouth. She had to search for the stick in the long grass; when we heard the cry we three went rushing over to her. Malachi gagged four or five times without being stick. She refused water from the llamas’ water reservoir – I proffered it in my cupped hand – and it seemed obvious that she simply wanted to go home and nurse her sore throat.

Every time I turn my head from the computer to look at her, Malachi notices the slight movement and she opens her beautiful brown eyes to look at me. She doesn’t condemn with those eyes but she looks sad and sorry for herself.

Luckily her father is a doctor and he’s coming back home soon with his torch and equipment.