Earl

Recently I went elk hunting. It was physically and emotionally hard, and ultimately, I did not get an elk. The start of the season corresponded to a hurricane, and while we were in the Rocky Mountians, days of rain, highly unusual, made the hunt even more complex.

One day, while we were scouting, my husband's cousin showed up to hunt in a similar area, although further in the backcountry. While my party was powered by just our two legs, the cousin had two rental llamas with him, a white one and a black one.

The black one was called Black Elk and the white one was named Earl. They apparently spent their summers in Rocky Mountain National Park working with the backcountry crews. It was the second week of October in 2025, and the government was shut down. That meant Black Elk and Earl should be among the thousands of furloughed government workers, but alas, they were not. Instead they were now being used by backcountry hunters, and it was clear, if anyone wanted a furlough, it was them.

While we caught up with the cousin, we got out of the wind and went into a wall tent, meaning we could no longer see Earl and Black Elk. The two of them were staked to the ground so they could graze without being corralled. We talked for probably an hour. One of the stories the cousin told us was that Earl and Black Elk could kick sideways. When you put their panniers on, you had to be careful they didn't catch you in the teeth or the groin. Once, the cousin had gotten kicked, and he'd managed to get a good elbow in on Earl during the scuffle. Earl apparently regarded the cousin with a modicum more of respect after that (allegedly llamas have a highly alpha society) but the cousin's elbow hurt for three months. Later we learned that if you have llamas, you need to remove their 'fighting teeth' so they don't castrate each other in fights. They apparently don't fuck around.

When we were done talking, we left the tent and could once again see the llamas again. Black Elk was still grazing, but Earl, he stood looking straight into the hurricane caused wind, ears back, body squared off like he would, given the right opening, beat the living hell out of the wind.

We let out a collective laugh, watching him stare daggers at the air. Earl turned his flat gaze at us, ears still pinned to the back of his head, and we choked back our mirth. Once we went quiet, he calmly swiveled his gaze right back into the wind.

In that moment, I knew, I liked Earl. He lived his truth, side kicking people and daring the wind to make a move. His emotions flowed out of him and into the world loudly and unashamedly, and frankly, I loved that for him.

No one tells Earl he's too emotional. They do that, and he aims for the balls.

Fuck yeah, Earl. Fuck yeah.