Hurricane Rita reached Indiana Sunday morning, ahead of our plans to get grass seed and fertilizer down before it rained. Fortunately, the real rain didn’t commence until after noon, and we were only partially soaked and ready for a noon-time nap after all our work. After a frozen pizza/emergency food lunch, we went out to feed the llamas. Fred alarmed me when he said that Jimmy, aka, Got My Vote, was standing out in the rain and would not come in. I finished putting hay out for the girls, and walked out to the boy’s porch to see what was the matter. There was Jimmy, standing at the far end of the boy’s inner corral, soaking wet. At first I thought he was sick, and had segregated himself from the others. But his ears were up and he was staring intently at me. Then I thought perhaps one of the other males had been fighting with him and he was afraid to come in. I walked up to a safe distance, just where Jimmy felt his “personal space” started. I talked to him, and patted my thigh, encouraging him to follow me, which surprisingly, he did. He walked close behind me right up to where the roof downspout was cutting a muddy little river across the corral. Then we would go no further. He looked at that water with the same horrid fascination that I look at those big crunchy spiders that web on the side of our house this time of year. He then backed away and walked back to his safe spot, which I then understood was the high spot in the corral. I walked back out, and tried another way; under the pine trees. He happily followed me…to within about eight feet of the porch, where again, there was a tiny river flowing toward the drainage tile. It was obvious Jimmy was afraid to cross the water, even though it was not more than a mud puddle. He looked at me with sad eyes, water dripping from his bangs, as though asking for help with his delimma. I skirted past and behind him, and tried to herd him through the water, but this did not work either. Finally, since I was soaked already, I got behind and skooped my arm under his butt and heaved. He resisted and sidestepped. When his feet starting sliding and he realized I might actually push him into the water, he leaped—a good six feet, and almost made it to the porch. He pulled his hairy feet out of the mud and jumped to the dry porch, where all the other llamas sniffed him and his wet, sodden hair. But Jimmy made a bee-line to the hay, snuffling the empty feed dishes on the way. This interest in food confirmed that he was not sick. He had probably been grazing under the trees until after the rain started in earnest and closed off his return to the barn. Apparently his former home must have been on higher ground (Hard Rock?) where our recent hurricanes (Indiana has shared Dennis, Katrina and Rita so far this year!) did not threaten him with a wet corral!