Training Your Humans to Respond to a Bell

By Glacier
Mesquite Bean Llamas, near Austin, TX

Photos courtesy of me (taken by Sharon)

March 1999. Hi. I'm Glacier, a three year old white llama with black face mask. I share my yard with a spoiled, pushy two and a half year old female named Apu. A relative newcomer, two year old appaloosa Warpaint, makes up the rest of my herd and surely knows his place in it. I want to share some training tips with you llamas that have been successful with my humans (Sharon and Claud); things that you probably haven't even thought about.

The most recent (and most innovative, if I should say so myself) was to turn around a technique that they used to entice us to them. They ring an antique bell on the upstairs deck by pulling on a long rope from the downstairs porch. At first I investigated this obnoxious noise out of curiosity, but my humans fed me a handfull of Muenster pellets or a few carrots just for checking it out. Since Apu and Warpaint followed me there, they got some goodies too. It wasn't necessary to entice me, I would have come anyway just to check out these sounds. I take herd leadership very seriously.

Anyway, after several weeks of listening for and responding to unpredictable bell ringing events, I thought it might be interesting to pull that bell rope myself. I rather liked the two-phased clang-clang, although it was a bit rusty and had to be pulled pretty hard to get past the first screech-screech. Impediments to success were the wind blowing the limp cotton rope away from my lips and my difficulty in turning my head sideways to catch the elusive thing. I practiced several times before I got the hang of it (Hummm...llamas can pun too).

Check out this video of my bellringing?

Glacier ringing the bell I knew Claud was upstairs working. Didn't know when he would come out and feed us, but I felt like I'd like a Muenster snack or carrot about then. They are real stingy with treats. So I pulled on the rope. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Was he deaf? After what seemed an interminable time, he finally came downstairs to see why the bell rang. You should have seen the effect on my human! He was so delighted that he gave me a whole handful of Muenster - and some to Apu and that pesky Warpaint too. And what did they do to deserve it besides follow me around? Glacier ringing the bell
Claud was so excited about my innovation that he called Sharon at work. She made a special trip out late that afternoon hoping to see me do it, but I didn't feel like showing off just then. Let her wait. Besides, she gives me Muenster even if I don't ring the bell, so why should I?

Next day, I did it again. Claud fed me and called her again. Now I've trained him to make telephone calls whenever I want him to! And she responds by driving for 30 minutes...just on the off chance I might pull a rope. What power!

A couple of days later, I decided to give Sharon a thrill by ringing the bell while she was sweeping the porch. I didn't do it for the food, I'd already had my ration for the day. But she gave me more anyway. (Us really. I'm the idea man and everyone benefits!) Incidentally, I've also trained her to run get the camera when I pull the rope, but I quit before she gets back. And she still feeds me!

A close-up of the traditional method.

Close-up of rope through mouth

I've developed several different techniques to hold that slippery rope. Llamas don't have upper teeth so I couldn't grip it well. Claud finally tied some knots in it so it wouldn't slip through my mouth. I did learn to increase friction though by flipping the end of the rope over my nose - it works well. See.

Rope flipped over Glacier's nose while ringing bell

I can flip it over my ear too! Rope flipped over Glacier's ear while ringing bell Here is another successful "way to hold your mouth." Bell rope pulled to the right
A contractor came to the house and made it inside before we could properly greet him. I rang the bell to remind Claud to make an introduction, but he mistakenly thought I wanted a carrot. I refused it (to his surprise) and waited until the contractor came out, then whiffled him. He was OK. I wasn't interested in the carrot at all; didn't even eat it after he left.

August 1999. By now, "we" includes two more llamas, a yearling brat Siesta, and my nurse, Nova (see snakebite article/web page). We've depleted the natural forage in our/their acre yard and Claud built strong fences around the tastiest exotics, so they sometimes take us outside the fence to browse the lush grass and elm leaves. Now that they've learned to feed us on demand, I decided to expand their repertory of responses to opening the gate to let us out at our convenience. It's plenty light at 6:30 am so I ring the bell to alert them to daybreak, the coolest time to browse. The deck door opens with a "I hear you Glacier" and a promise to come downstairs "in a minute." We cluster at the gate, waiting for our halters to be put on so we can go out.

September was hot. My humans help keep cool by sharing cold water from a bottle. I put my muzzle against the bottle when Claud had it - and he offered me some. Not to be impolite, I sucked from the stream he poured just in front of my lips. Now I don't have to drink from the warm bucket when they are around. (Note: This photo was taken about 10 days after I'd been bitten by a rattlesnake above my nostrils, so please excuse the swollen head.)

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Glacier drinking from a plastic RC bottle