I hate to be spit on.

I’m not talking about the kind of spitting that happens when you take the last pint of Cherry Garcia in the frozen food aisle at Walmart and the woman behind you puts a curse on you by spitting and giving you the evil eye.

I’m used to that.

No, the kind of spitting I’m talking about comes from deep within the digestive system of a llama.

It all started about ten years ago. My beautiful wife started knitting and decided she was going to cut out the middle man and make her own yarn.

So she bought her first herd of alpacas. At one time, she had 32 of those spitty critters plus a few llamas.

And then things changed.

She decided about a year ago that she was done with raising alpacas.

Now, when my wife says she is done with something, she is done. That is why I try to be really quiet around her and make no sudden movements. I don’t want her to be done with me. I like air conditioning too much.

She sold off her remaining alpacas but decided at the last minute to keep two llamas.

She had bought them to protect the alpaca herd from predators and figured if she bought any other animals, they would be great to have.

But she didn’t buy anymore animals, not even after I suggested we get us a herd of saber-toothed jackalopes, or a flock of miniature porcupines (I like to call those Mini-Pinnies.) She even said no to a bunch of saltwater crocodiles.

A few weeks ago, she decided that she was done with the llamas (see above) and called the exotic animals guy to come get them.

Now, I don’t know if you have ever been around llamas, but they are a lot more dangerous than Mini-Pinnies.

Most people think llamas and alpacas are sweet, docile creatures with fuzzy hair. But let me tell you, they ain’t.

A full-grown llama weighs about 500 pounds and has the strength of ten saltwater crocodiles. I can’t tell you how many times those beasts tried to kill me when I cornered them in a horse stall and tried to give them a shot.

So, in a way, I was not going to miss them even though I did like to sit on the porch and watch them lope across the field. Bonga bonga bong.

But there would be no more bonga bonga bonging around our house.

The animal guy showed up and backed his trailer into the barn and that’s when the fun really began.

Llamas hate getting on a trailer even more than they hate both saltwater crocodiles and jackalopes.

They started kicking and screaming and just refused to get on the trailer, so the animal guy decided to pull out a hot shot. That’s a long stick with sparks that shoot out of it when pressed against the flesh.

Llamas hate hot shots. Heck, everybody hates hot shots.

As soon as the guy started popping them with the thing, the llamas went berserk.

They kicked at us and screamed like they were being castrated with a dull butter knife. And then they started to spit.

Now, I have been spit on before. Once in 5th grade when I stole the girlfriend of a classmate. And back when I worked as a farm hand in the summer, my boss thought it was funny to spit tobacco juice on us.

But being spat upon by a llama is much worse than either of those. They have three stomachs and when they get angry, they are somehow able to bring up the foul stuff from down in that third stomach to use as a weapon.

It smells and looks like the sludge left in the bottom of a septic tank after it’s pumped.

It’s green and smells so horrible that if you were to smear it on you, you could repel Great White sharks and Grizzly bears.

As soon as the llamas started going all Rambo on us, they started launching that septic sludge right at me.

They spit in my hair, spit in my eyes, and even in my mouth. The mouth that was open in a scream of horror.

We finally got these Tasmanian Devils onto the trailer and waved goodbye and then threw up in the bushes.

The llamas are gone and with them went their bonga bonga bong and their spitty mouths.

So if you see me in public and want to spit on me, take your shot.

Believe me when I say I’ve had much worse.