Pim’s Final Moments
Thursday, April 23
The day of medical examinations at EquiSound in Belgium. Departure from Aagtekerke: 6:00 AM. In the morning twilight, Pim cheerfully and calmly follows both llamas, Lilly and Sindaya, into the trailer. Millie accompanies Mara on this early journey. Upon arrival in Belgium, the sun is shining. Pim comfortably nibbles on the freshly mown lawn in front of the clinic. They will be his last bites.
Confidently, he walks behind Lilly, stepping briefly onto the scale—a ritual he knows so well. With his nose tucked into Mara’s collar, he lets his neck be shaved, the sedation administered, and the IV line set. In her arms, he falls asleep, full of trust. For he knows the words “It will be okay. We are going to help you. I’m staying with you” better than anyone.
Extended Anesthesia
After the MRI scan, Pim slowly begins to wake up. However, to perform an ultrasound and potentially drain fluid, he needs to be put under more deeply once again. The anesthesia is extended. Holding his hind paws in her hands, Mara watches the ultrasound monitor. The moment the drainage needle is retrieved, an assisting intern says: “He isn’t breathing anymore.” CPR does not help. Within a few minutes, Pim’s paws turn cold.
On the journey back in the trailer, foster mother Lilly repeatedly presses her nose against his lifeless body. Once back at the farm, she lingers until late in the evening in the back of the pasture, around the spot where Pim always loved to lie down most. Time and again, she looks around inquiringly, and then searchingly at us.
Without Pim
We, too, find ourselves missing that daily anchor: feeding him his bottle—almost always the first task in the early morning, then after lunch, late in the afternoon, and finally during Mara’s evening rounds. For 351 days, both the team’s daily structure and the rhythm of all the animals adapted to Pim’s development. Everyone was always alert and observant. Every single day, Renate and Mara updated each other on “how many bottles he had emptied.” And every morning, Mara announced the previous day’s total: yesterday 6 bottles, or 5, or 8. On rare occasions, even 9.5.
Pim will never tuck his nose into Lilly’s woolly flanks again. Never again snack from the bales of fresh hay. Never again peek playfully around a corner. Never again drink greedily from his bottle. Never again nuzzle Mara’s face. And right now, we wrestle with the question: how can his sudden passing contribute to the knowledge and expertise needed to save other alpacas?
