I never thought I'd be raising camels. Here I am, helping with one.
My brother Tabor keeps two-hump camels at his place in California. Bactrians, if you want the proper name. I grew up with the guy; camels were never on the list of things I expected us to be into. But there's a new baby on the ground now, and I'm part of the operation.
/ The Camel Part
The two humps matter, because that's the cold-weather kind. Bactrians come from the steppes of Central Asia, built for winters that hit twenty below. And the humps aren't water — that's the myth. They're fat, stored energy for when food gets thin. People have kept these animals for milk, wool, and packing for a few thousand years. The Silk Road basically ran on them.
Tabor's babies are a little more spoiled than Silk Road stock.
/ Like a Puppy
This new one acts like a puppy. Curious to the point of nosiness. Follows you around the pen, wants to be right where you are. Big soft nose, absurdly long legs, wobbles like a creature that hasn't finished assembling itself. The second you stop paying attention, you get a nudge — just checking you're still there.
/ Uncle Duties
I've built jet skis. I've built software. I've built a haunted house. Never once did "bottle-feeding a camel" show up on the list. Yet here I am, and it might be the warmest thing I've done all year.
Tabor's been at this a while. I'm the uncle who shows up and gets drafted into chores. But watching a baby camel figure out the world, in the California dirt at my brother's place — that's a day I didn't know I needed, and can't wait to do when I get the chance.
Until the next run out — work hard, play hard.