The Magic of Rojo

On August 11, 2007 I attended the Clark County Fair and came home absolutely giddy. With no reason to contain my excitement, I wrote:

“OK, so this was nearly a dream come true. There's this truly llovely llama named Rojo. I've admired him for days and actually recognized him from last year's fair. Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway, with some nudging from Rob and a well-timed question after the llama-lympics were over, I received some basic instruction from Rojo's 15-year-old trainer and then got to walk Rojo through the obstacle course!!! Llama heaven! I want one, I want one, I want one! Rob, can I have a llama??? Pleeeeeeeeese???”

Twelve years later, I sit here in tears wearing silver llama earrings and a t-shirt featuring that same llovely llama being hugged by a huge pickle wearing a baseball uniform.

The Pickles are a super duper minor league
baseball team in Portland.  Rojo and the Pickles
mascot, Dillon, were buds.

The Magic of Rojo.

I wrote about Rojo again in February 2008, after seeing one of the very first newspaper articles about him. Our local paper was intrigued by a llama going out and about to hospitals and schools and retirement homes like therapy dogs do, greeting people and sprinkling smiles in his wake. Twelve years later, when that llama died on November 6, 2019, that same newspaper featured him on the front page with a huge headline and photo. Because twelve years later, a world without Rojo is as newsworthy as it is devastating.

We're up to 4 copies so far

To say Rojo was famous, although true, misses the essence of who he was and how he changed the world. Yes, he was featured in books and documentaries. Yes, he was in magazines and on TV. Yes, photos of him went viral on the internet too many times to count. Yes, thousands of fans followed him on social media and dozens got on airplanes to meet him. Yes to all of that. But his fame wasn’t why people flocked to Rojo.

It was joy.

Rojo was calm. He was gentle. He was peaceful. He was accepting. He was approachable. He was unexpected. He was patient. He was fluffy. He was regal.

Rojo was love. And he was magic.

I am sinfully proud to say that I am Rojo’s very first Super Fan and Llama Stalker. My blogged gushings about him resulted in Lori (Rojo’s owner) finding me in the interwebs at just the time she realized she needed an extra hand on her burgeoning therapy visits with Rojo. My first outing with Lori and Rojo on March 20, 2008 was the beginning of a divinely appointed friendship and one heck of a wild and llamazing ride.

Our first photo together - May 2008

Our last photo together - July 2019

As a llama helper, I got a prime view from Rojo’s fluffy tail of the laughter and awe and joy that exploded when people met him. I got to see fear melt away. I got to see stress be released. I got to see the darkness of depression lift for just a spell. I got to see tears of pure happiness and excitement. I got to see dreams come true and hear repeated exclamations of “This is the best day of my life!” All because of a llama. A truly spectacular llama.

This was a Super Fan who was meeting
Rojo for the first time after stalking him
for years on Facebook.  The clenched fists
are from jumping up and down with
bubbly giggles.  She was so much FUN!

One of the most magical outings I had with Rojo was when we were invited to visit Portland’s largest children’s hospital. We surprised some children in their rooms, others met Rojo through windows. As we moved around the hospital, we encountered kids on their way to surgeries and treatments. We met kids in wheelchairs and on gurneys.

But it was the waiting room that really got me.

We hadn’t planned to go to the waiting room; it was just the shortest path. We really meant to just pass through. Instead, we found several families blanketed in silent anxiety waiting for surgeons to call their names with news.

Rojo entered the room. Heads lifted, eyes widened, questions flew, smiles emerged. Laughter. Photos. Happy chatter. Fluffy hugs. Lingering strokes.

We were only there for about ten minutes but they were indelible ones. The distraction Rojo provided. The conversations he left behind. The connections he bridged between strangers. The brief but healing moment of light and joy. That was the magic of Rojo.

Another emblematic outing was one of our annual visits to the Washington School for the Blind. We were outside and Rojo was surrounded by children. Parents and teachers explained that a llama was nearby. With encouragements and reassurances, the children started to see Rojo. They slowly ran their hands along his sturdy back. They twirled the silky fiber on his neck in their fingers. They outlined his long ears and camel-like nose. Several crouched down to see Rojo’s feet, feeling his hard toenails surrounded by soft fuzz. And I stood in awe.

Here was a 450-pound animal, with children touching him over and under, behind and on top. (We learned later that Rojo was the first live animal some of the children had ever touched.) The slightest twitch of a hoof could have terrified a child if not injuring them. And yet Rojo just stood. Still and quiet, patient and regal. Unfazed and seemingly acutely aware of the honor of his work there that day. Just when I thought Rojo could not be more remarkable, he proved me wrong.

Absolutely...completely...utterly...

...remarkable

In one of the most generous gifts I have ever been given, Lori called me last Saturday afternoon. Rojo was suddenly and dramatically not doing well. Over the course of less than a week, Rojo shifted from being a senior, newly retired llama to a terminally ill one, with little explanation as to why. Unsure how much longer Rojo would be with us, Lori invited me and Rob to come see him. Unspoken was the understanding it was to say good-bye.

I pet the top of Rojo’s head between his ears – one of my favorite places to sneak some of my own llama therapy – and was startled to feel bones where I had never felt them before. I stroked Rojo’s neck and he nuzzled a little closer. It was then that I silently told him my heart.

I thanked Rojo for giving me a purpose 12 years ago when I was languishing in an undiagnosed depression. It was a gift and a life preserver to go out on therapy visits with Rojo and Lori and see the joy he so effortlessly brought to everyone who encountered him. Rojo got me out of myself and helped me focus on helping others. The adage is so true – you really do get more when you give.

I thanked Rojo for being the catalyst for some of the dearest friends in my life. Friends that have graciously invited me along, let me help out, and offered me a prime seat on one of the most unexpected and ridiculously fun adventures I never imagined existed.

I thanked Rojo for bringing so much unbridled joy and fun to thousands of people. I have so many memories and thousands…literally…of photos of people smiling huge and laughing with their whole selves over meeting a llama. I know what pure joy looks like and feels like because of Rojo.

Another fan who drove quite a long way to meet us in
a parking lot before a therapy visit. 

The past few days since Rojo died have been a chaotic mess of emotions. I am utterly devastated while at the same time completely overwhelmed with gratitude. My soul and spirit are forever changed by not just meeting but knowing and spending time with a truly extraordinary animal who was an ambassador of joy.

Rob and I spent most of two days crying on our couch. Over a llama. A llama that isn’t even ours. But Rojo WAS our llama. He touched and captured the hearts of thousands…in Clark County, in Portland, in the country, around the world. Because he and his people generously let us, Rojo belonged to all of us.

The Llove of Rojo is very real and very widespread

Several hours after Rojo passed, Rob and I joined Shannon (Rojo’s other owner) on a therapy visit to a senior retirement home…because even though the world felt like it had stopped, we knew we had to keep marching forward. With us was Captain Jack, a snuggly young alpaca who is in training to join Lori and Shannon’s herd of exquisitely well-behaved and cuddly therapy animals. Although the four of us were there to provide smiles and wonder for the elderly residents, it was really Shannon, Rob, and me who were getting the best therapy.

Captain Jack let me bury my tears in his fuzzy
head.  He's crawling into my heart already.

Seeing Captain Jack light up eyes, bring smiles to formerly expressionless faces, and encourage conversation and interaction was a poignant reminder of what Rojo pioneered. And a promise that what Rojo started did not die with him. Lori and Shannon and their other animals will carry on what Rojo helped them build. And Rojo will continue to provide therapy, too, in one of the most bizarre and wonderfully perfect memorials ever.

The Washington School for the Blind has a special room called The Sensory Safari. The room is filled with several dozen taxidermized animals. The purpose of the room is to provide blind children (or anyone) the experience of seeing the animals with their hands and fingertips.

Yes, Rojo is going to live on in the Sensory Safari room. He is currently under the care of a very skilled taxidermist who has experience working with llamas (this is both comforting and bewildering). Sometime in 2020, Rojo will be placed in his forever home at the Washington School for the Blind. He will continue his legacy of teaching, serving, provoking questions, and providing comfort. And being the rock star he has always been.

Rest in peace, Rojo. Thank you for being ours.

(Click here to see a video of Shannon and Rojo visiting the Sensory Safari room in 2018.)