After leaving town with groceries in her rear-wheel bicycle baskets, a 60-year-old, Ms. Neddleton, again soon found peddling up the steep incline on the way home too difficult. Just before rolling backward, she clutched the handlebar, slid off the seat, then pushed her rust-covered sole means of transportation uphill.
Near the top of the rise, a gal riding a tractor-style mower shut off the engine and called to her neighbor. “Ms. Neddleton, hold on!”
Ms. Neddleton halted her trudging, ran a hand through a crop of white hair, then turned toward the approaching fortyish woman, Babet, while wiping sweat from forehead with a forearm. Because she’d never exchanged more than a brief wave with the woman, Ms. Neddleton, who greatly valued her privacy, was wary.
“Guessing your mower is on the fritz, I’m wondering if you’d let me see if my new sit-down mower is as good as it’s supposed to be by allowing me cut your grass with it?” cordially offered Babet.
“You’re politely telling me my property needs upkeep. I’ll get to it,” assured Ms. Neddleton.
“I could get to it this afternoon,” pressed Babet.
“Again, thanks, but no thanks,” answered Ms. Neddleton while turning away.
“The truth is I’m not the only one concerned,” continued Babet. “You see, as a member of the town council, I’ve had to listen to grumbling neighbors and realtors worried about property values sinking.”
Ms. Neddleton turned back to the woman. “But my cottage is on a neighborless stretch of road,” she pointed out.
“People take notice when they ride by. Whataya say I follow you home on my mower,” suggested Babet.
“What are the griping faultfinders planning on doing, having me thrown in jail?” asked an annoyed Ms. Neddleton.
“There’s a hefty fine on the books. It’s a battle you can’t win!” warned Babet.
Ms. Neddleton shook her head, then begrudgingly gave her assurance. “It’ll be taken care of soon!”
A string of career disappointments, a divorce and, most devastating, the loss of her only child due to a drug overdose had left Ms. Neddleton feeling sure she preferred to remain detached from the world. I won’t be left alone unless I cut the dang grass, she privately fussed as she began the peddling-free glide home.
Feeling pressured, Ms. Neddleton began a three-step grass-cutting process soon after grabbing a bite to eat. First, she swung a weed cutter—a double-edged blade with a three-foot wooden handle—over a section of front lawn. Next, she raked what was slashed out of the way so that she could tackle an even more toilsome task: pushing a motorless hand mower over the portion of grass she’d crudely chopped.
After two hours under a sweltering summer sun, a sweat-soaked Ms. Neddleton hadn’t stopped to rest. Having to steer the mower over the same patch of ground three or four times to complete a small section meant progress was very slow.
During one of her hardy shoves forward, a twig jammed the blades, prompting Ms. Neddleton to come to an abrupt stop. After unsuccessfully trying to snap the twig by thrusting the mower forward, aching arms fell to sides as legs wobbled. Swaying while leaning against the mower’s handle, she tried in vain to remain standing. Falling to knees, she closed eyes and flopped onto her back, then fell still.
With no idea how much time had passed, Ms. Neddleton opened eyes and found herself looking up at far more than blue sky. Seeing two sleepy-eyed fury animals hovering over her as if about to introduce themselves, she laid still, too taken aback to rise. Astonished, she eventually managed a half-serious question: “Angels or aliens?”
Further surprising the Ms Neddleton, a girl, 12 or so, standing behind the animals spoke. “Neither,” answered the youngster.
Propping herself onto her elbows, Ms. Neddleton spotted the girl. “I’m joking,” said Ms. Neddleton as she struggled to her feet, then took a staggering step backward.
“Better lean against something,” said the girl, wearing jeans, sneakers, a red shirt and blue ball cap.
“That’s good advice,” said Ms. Neddleton as she shuffled to her front door stoop, plopped down and leaned against a metal railing.
“The front lawn is finished,” said the girl as she and two llamas moved closer to Ms. Neddleton.
“Wow. . . . thanks!” exclaimed Ms. Neddleton. “What’s your name?”
“I’m a mysterious kid,” answered the girl with a shrug.
“A mysterious kid is what, not who, you are,” noted Ms. Neddleton.
“My friends have names. The brownish one on the right is Touche. She’s somewhat of a know it all. The whitish one on the left is Fussy. As you might guess, she’s a fussbudget,” shared the girl.
“I have a fond childhood memory of petting llamas at a zoo,” recalled Ms. Neddleton as she stood to gently stroke each of her four-legged visitors. “They must be fun to ride.”
“We always walk or run side by side,” said the girl.
“You must be new to the neighborhood,” assumed Ms. Neddleton.
“I understand why you’d think that,” answered the stone-faced girl.
Again perplexed by the girl, Ms. Neddleton became concerned. “Your parents know where you are, right?” she asked.
“My buddies and I are here to help you wrap up,” replied the girl.
“What’s the charge?” asked Ms. Neddleton.
“No charge. . . . We’ll finish the front backyard tomorrow, OK?” replied the girl.
Later in the day, after discovering she was out of needed medication, Ms. Neddleton again set out for town. On her way back from picking up the pills, she again let her bike glide to a stop on the incline that brought her past Babet’s property.
Out trimming her driveway with her gas-powered weed-whacker, Babet shut off the noisy gadget, then marched to the side of the road. “I can be quite a pest when a get a bee in my bonnet. How about letting me mow your place?”
“No need. The front lawn’s been mowed, and the back yard will be attended to tomorrow. . . . I had three helpers show up. A girl and her munching chums. I’m hoping to have our new neighbors over on a regular basis,” informed Ms. Neddleton.
Babet folded arms. “Please tell me those munching chums aren’t livestock.”
“Just two lovable llamas,” said Ms. Neddleton.
“Llamas!” objected a surprised Babet.
“What’s the big deal?” asked Ms. Neddleton.
Babet had a bad-news answer. “No livestock within town limits. What direction did the trio come from or head to?”
Feeling protective of the girl and llamas, Ms. Neddleton let her bike fall against her hip as she folded arms. “What you’re saying doesn’t make sense! How can it be OK to use horribly loud, air-polluting gas mowers, weed-whackers and leaf-blowers, but wrong to use four-legged docile grass chewers?”
Babet wasn’t sympathetic. “Livestock devalues property. There’s no way the town council is gonna change the zoning,” she insisted!
“Give me a some time to make sure the animals are properly boarded.” asked Ms. Neddleton.
“You’ve got three days!” said Babet.
Wanting to quickly make plans with the girl’s parents, Ms. Neddleton peddled the neighborhood streets in search of the girl and llamas. To her dismay, two hours of hunting was in vain. Yet more disheartening, each time she found someone to approach, the mention of two 5’8″, 400-pound llamas walking beside a girl in an orderly fashion prompted a snooty chuckle.
When one couple walking their dog responded with an unpleasant snicker, Ms. Neddleton’s frustration showed. Feeling the llamas had been belittled, she blurted a defense of the animals. “Llamas are gentle animals able to pull their own weight by munch-cutting lawns. Can your dog feed himself while mowing your grass?” she asked.
Struggling to fall asleep that night, Ms, Neddleton rose from bed, grabbed a pad and pen, then plopped down at her kitchen table. “What do I wish I’d been told when I was a girl?” she asked herself.
Waking around noon the next day, Ms. Neddleton looked out her kitchen window and spotted the girl and llamas putting the finishing touches on the rear lawn. After grabbing two kitchen chairs as well as a bucket and jug of water, she hustled to the shade of the sycamore on the corner of the lot. “Terrific job,” she called out.
Focused on completing the remaining patch, the girl waved briskly. Once done, she brought the hand-powered mower to the rear of the cottage, then headed for Ms. Neddleton with Touche and Fussy in tow.
“All done,” said the girl as he reached for the jug, while Touche and Fussy bumped heads plunging toward the bucket.
Ms. Neddleton spoke with concern. “The town rules say livestock must be keep outside town limits,” she noted.
“Those rules don’t apply to us,” calmly replied the girl.
Ms. Neddleton hoped the girl and llamas lived outside town limits. . . . How long does it take you to get here?” she asked.
The girl rested elbows on knees and chin on clasped hands. “No time.”
Ms. Neddleton briefly looked up at the sky, then rested forearms on thighs while leaning toward the girl. “I can’t try to be helpful unless I know where you, Touche and Fussy live,” she warned.
“We don’t live anywhere,” pointed out the girl.
“Huh?” replied a very puzzled Ms. Neddleton.
“We’re wrap-up helpers. You’ve chosen to finish the lawn before you depart Earth. You see, people usually don’t like abupt departures, even when much unpleasantness has occurred on Earth,” explained the girl while lifting palms.
“Who put you up to this. Someone is trying to make me look crazy,” complained a flustered Ms. Neddleton.
The girl looked toward Touche and Fussy, then serenely replied. “This is the big good-bye.”
More unsettled, Ms. Neddleton paced back and forth. “You’re not making sense.”
“A level of difficulty is about to end,” answered the girl.
Now quite agitated, Ms. Neddleton spoke with some authority. “I’d like you to take me to your parents!” she insisted.
“Touche, Fussy and I are only real to you,” claimed the girl, remaining matter-of-fact.
The startling remark brought Ms. Neddleton to a standstill. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“No one else can see us,” answered the girl.
Spotting the mail truck approaching in the distance, a bewildered Ms. Neddleton bolted toward the street. Helped by the fact the mailman, Marv, slowed to deliver some junk mail, she was able to get the carrier’s attention. “Will you do me a small favor, Marv?” she called out.
“If I can,” said Marv.
“Just stand next to me so that you can tell me who and what you see on my property,” asked Ms. Neddleton.
“Ok,” agreed Marv while stepping from his truck. Soon standing alongside Ms. Neddleton, the carrier described what he saw. “I see a tree, two chairs a bucket and a jug. . . . No offense, but I also see a front and back yard in need of mowing,” he answered.
“Look under the sycamore in the backyard,” requested Ms. Neddleton.
Marv made a visor with his hands to block the sun’s glare. “What am I supposed to see?” he asked.
“A girl and two llamas!” declared Ms. Neddleton as she pointed to the tree.
“I still don’t see them. Are you OK, Ms. Neddleton?” asked Marv.
Ms. Neddleton looked down while shaking her head, then offered a half-hearted explanation. “I’m sorry I bothered you. . . . I must have dreamt about the girl and the animals while snoozing in the shade.”
“Some dreams seem real,” sympathized Marv before starting for his truck.
Stunned by the possibility she was conjuring up the girl and llamas, Ms. Neddleton briefly squeezed eyes shut. Reopening them, however, changed nothing. Finding it harder to deny only she could see the girl and llamas, she slogged back to the sycamore willing to explore what the girl had said. “You said ‘a level of difficulty is about to end.'”
“Yes,” replied the girl.
“Is another about to begin?” cautiously asked Ms. Neddleton.
The girl offered a mild shrug and frail smile. “I suspect what follows will reflect what you’ve figured out. Despite some painful lessons, you’ve learned a bit aboutniceness and healing, Focus on such learning,: advised the girl
A month later, while mowing Ms. Neddleton’s front lawn to keep the abandoned property in acceptable shape, Babet turned toward the road when the mail carrier, Marv, pulled up to request a chat.
“Ms, Neddleton’s sudden death due to a brain problem will haunt me for some time. Her talk of seeing a girl and two llamas was a big red flag,” revealed Marv after Babet shut off her mower.
“She also told me about the girl and the llamas,” shared Babet. “I never suspected she needed medical attention. While rubbing the back of her neck, Babet spoke softly. “There’s something I’ve found to be particularly strange—something I’ve been going over and over.”
“What’s that?” reluctantly asked Marv.
“While mowing the backyard, I came upon two large, unfamiliar piles of droppings. My curiosity prompted me to send a picture of them to the gal in charge of the petting zoo in Clirksberg. . . . Wanna guess what she told me?”
Marv paused to take a deep breath, then softly answered correctly. “Something you and I are gonna think about for the rest of our lives: The piles appeared to be llama do-do.”
1. Should people be allowed to make pets out of llamas?
2. What did Ms Neddleton need to wrap-up?
3. What do you think happened to Ms. Neddleton?
4. Why was llama do-do left behind for Babet to find?
5. Why do you think the author ended the story by mentioning the droppings?was llama do-do left behind for Babet to find?