I used to think Dal was wimpy - always the first one to tire on the trail, always so anxious of the unknown. But I now believe he possessed a rare courage to work for us as he did given his fragile physical state. We did not realize in the beginning that he was ill. Now he is gone, sweet Dal, and my mind is full of images from his life.

Dal in his rare moments of well-being, initiating playtime, leaping higher and galloping faster than all the others, beautiful in his freedom.

Dal, reassuring panicky Rambler in the cart and encouraging him to go forward, then loafing along in slack traces while Rambler did the work.

Dal snoozing in the sun with both cats curled against his belly. The cats would not dare try this with any other llama.

Dal at his first show, in the obstacle class, wanting so badly to crawl under the log behind me just because I asked him to, but his eyes beseeching me to understand that he was afraid of getting stuck.

Dal and his terror of bears, running frantically up and down the fenceline for hours after one passed, wearing himself into a state of exhaustion.

Dal with his pricked ears, tilted head and "Yes, what is it?" look when I called his name. Dal of the dark eyes, velvety nose and shining spirit.

Dal and his endearing demonstration of affection, rarely given, gently nibbling my chin with his eyes half closed and making soft little wuffling noises.

Dal when he began to grow thin from his illness, ambling ever so nonchantly around the corner of the barn so as not to attract attention, then, out of sight of his buddies, the mad dash to the back door and pail of extra feed he knew I had waiting.

The week Dal cared for a ten-year-old girl with leukemia. Following her like a guardian angel, lowering his head so she could put his halter on, pulling her sled on the lake ice.

The hour I sat with Dal knowing it was time to call the vet but putting it off, watching his labored breathing, wishing I could absorb his pain, wishing today was yesterday, wishing I was anywhere else but here.

The phone call: you were right all along, please come.

Dal shivering and whimpering in pain, then nuzzling my chin - in gratitude? - as the sedative took effect. Dal with his head in my lap as the vet eased his passage from this life.

Vaya con Dios, gentle Dalai.

Bev and Barry Henry