Go Home, Llamas! UFLI Foundations Lesson 123
Practice Words
Boom. Boom. Boom. Skel sat up in bed, startled and shaky. Something was thumping the walls of his bedroom. Not thunder. Not a storm. Just loud, thumping music coming from outside.
In the morning, Skel stomped outside to find out who did it. Three silly llamas stood in the middle of the farm: one purple, one orange, one white. They pranced and kicked up dirt, tossing their heads and stomping to a beat only they could hear. 'Shoo! Go home!' yelled Skel. They looked at him, then they kept on dancing.
Skel puffed out his bony chest and pointed at the path. He was getting snippy. 'I will count, and then you go,' he said. 'One. Two...' But the purple one just yawned, the orange one sat down, and the white one spun around to munch on the crops.
The next morning was much worse. They had invited friends, and those friends had invited even more friends. The herd filled the yard, the path, and the garden. Pink ones, tiny ones, spotty ones, big ones. Skel tried to tally them up and gave up at twenty.
From the path, Skel called out, 'Have you seen the yard?' His pal Zom was busy with the pigs and a yappy green guy by the fence. 'They are just llamas, Skel,' Zom called back. 'No need to worry.' 'They are eating it all!' Skel yelled. 'The grass, the crops, and one even ate a fence post!' Zom shrugged and said, 'I will fix it after lunch.'
After lunch, Skel went out to the farm. The crops looked patchy and thin, and the fuzzy herd chewed and chewed, happy and slow, like one big shaggy lawnmower no one asked for. Skel stared at the thin patches and felt very sorry for the crops. 'That is a lot of llamas,' Skel said to himself.
Zom had a clever plan. He looped leads around three llamas and said, 'When the leader goes, the rest will follow.' And it worked! One by one, the llamas fell in line and marched right off the farm. Skel was very surprised. 'How did you do that?' Zom just grinned. 'I am a llama person.'
The farm was very quiet. Skel stood by the pond, wary, watching the wavy water. No stomping. No chewing. No honking. Just peace. 'It will not last,' said Skel. A frog croaked. 'See?' said Skel. 'The frog knows it too.'
It did not last. The next day they were back, plus new ones Skel had never seen. They ran on the grass in one big, speedy rush, pushing and honking with joy. The farm was their best place. And the herd would not forget it.
'That is it!' Skel yelled, marching into the herd with his bony arms up, waving them like a windmill. 'I am scary! Fear me!' The herd just stared at him. Then the first one spat, then the second, then every one of them spat. Green, stinky spit hit Skel right in the face, and he slipped and sat down with a thud in a puddle of slimy goo.
Zom found him five minutes later. 'Skel? Is that you under all that yucky green stuff?' 'Stop,' said Skel, sulky and sticky and very sorry for himself. Zom bit his lip hard, but a soft laugh slipped out as he tugged his pal back up. 'Come on, you smelly softy. You smell just like llama spit.'
Inside, Zom mixed a steamy potion by lantern light and dabbed the green off Skel's bones. Skel sat very still. 'We can't scare them, and we can't lead them away,' said Zom. He held up a shiny bottle and smiled a slow, clever smile. 'We will not get rid of them. We make them useful.' Skel leaned in. 'I am listening.'
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