FLORISSANT, Mo. (AP)--Cupid curiously eyed the visitors to her spring-green pasture at the Dos Donas alpaca farm in north St. Louis County on a recent May morning.

She stretched out her fuzzy neck and took a warm, wet sniff of a human ear and then bounded back to the safety of the herd where most of her pals contentedly munched on tender grass, still moist with morning dew.

Except for Porchia. She was butting into this alpaca and that one, causing comical collisions of long necks and fleece.

At times, someone in the group would break into a low hum.

It all made for an unlikely scene in the Midwest, where pastures are usually grazed by familiar-looking cows and horses, not these adorably exotic creatures that look like a cross between a Teddy bear, a giraffe and a camel, topped with perky ears and big, brown E.T.-like eyes.

Hummmmmmmm.

Alpaca breeders will tell you that spending time with these gentle animals is good for the soul. Each alpaca produces up to 10 pounds of cashmere-soft fleece in a year--and who knows how many human smiles.

"You can really be troubled by something, and you come out here and it's gone," said JoAnn Flegel, who owns and runs Dos Donas with her daughter, Kristina.

Nearly 70 farms--about half of them in Missouri and Illinois--belong to the Midwest Alpaca Breeders and Owners Association, whose members share information on such diverse issues as birthing and tax-deferred wealth building.

Although alpacas were first imported from South America in 1984, the U.S. Alpaca Registry was closed to imports in 1998. Alpacas are pricey, ranging from $5,000 for a male to $40,000 for a breeding female, with top studs sometimes fetching more than $200,000. But breeders agree that raising these fuzzy oddballs goes beyond a business or investment opportunity.

"They make you happy," said Dale Pessin of the Show-Me Alpaca Ranch in Wildwood. "They are different from any other creature. You can have the worst day, and you go out into the field and look at your alpacas and it just makes the world feel good."

Dos Donas, nestled on 30 secluded acres near Florissant, is one of the St. Louis area's larger operations. The farm is home to about 130 of the wooly camelids.

Kristina Flegel, 31, who was recently honored by the Missouri Jaycees as its Outstanding Young Farmer, was looking for a career change when she discovered alpacas.

"I quit medical school because I was miserable--grinding my teeth and unhappy," she said. "I had a friend who had llamas, and I thought, 'I want her life.' How can I support myself?"

After the death of her father, St. Louis urologist Gerhard Flegel, Kristina convinced her mother that they should raise alpacas on their farm, where they had previously kept horses. They bought their first three alpacas in 1998 and now own 25. They also board more than 100 alpacas for owners scattered around the country.

While many breeders raise alpacas part-time--they usually own fewer than a dozen--Dos Donas is more than a full-time job for the Flegels. Along with daily chores of feeding and watering, there are always alpacas to be weighed, inoculations to be given or trips to alpaca livestock shows.

On the plus side, alpacas are easy to handle and tidy creatures who tend to do their duty in what alpaca farmers delicately refer to as "poop piles."

"If I had to choose between picking up poop and working in an office, I'd choose picking up poop," said Kristina Flegel.

Spring on area alpaca farms is a busy time when babies--called crias--are born, and everyone gets a buzzcut to survive the hot, humid St. Louis summer.

Shearing is a major event and is scheduled during what the breeders hope will be a window of mild weather in early May; they don't want to remove those thick fleece blankets until the danger of cold weather has passed. The fiber is sold to hand spinners and mills.

Breeders and volunteers often drop in to help with shearing, as was the case recently at the AL-O Alpacas farm in Alhambra, Ill., where owners Julann and Bert Hastings have been raising alpacas for 14 years--ever since she saw them pictured on a magazine cover. While Julann Hastings' brother Bob Dauderman and great-nephew Michael Dauderman handled the 10 alpacas to be sheared, Highland neighbors DeAnna and Tom Timm of Always Alpacas and R.A. and Ruth Hobbs of Southern Illinois Alpacas, worked the brooms.

"Oh, what a beautiful blanket," DeAnna Timm would say, as she gathered the wispy fleece in her arms. Timm, who spins and weaves alpaca fiber, takes orders for her shawls and wraps at area art shows. She is a special education teacher at Highland High School and was clearly enjoying shearing day.

"This is therapy," she said.

Shearing is a speedy affair, with shearer Darren Kennedy averaging about 6 minutes per alpaca.

Zip. Zip.

"Oh, poor baby," cooed Julann Hastings, 74, like a mom watching her child's first haircut, as an alpaca named Sunday put up a fuss over being restrained on the cool, concrete floor of a farm workshop. As Kennedy sheared, his assistant, Josh Klein, patted Sunday and talked to her in a soothing voice.

On the exterior of the nearby alpaca barn, a painted sign of Sunday reminded everyone that this was the prized firstborn at the Hastings' farm. You could say it was a spitting image because in her own defense, Sunday did what upset alpacas do: She spit. Foul, green, sewage-smelling spit.

Kennedy took it in stride.

Zip. Zip.

Kennedy is something of a legend in alpaca circles, a native New Zealander who travels the farm circuit every spring, sheering alpacas at $28 a head. He is from either Colorado, Arizona or Minnesota, depending on which breeder is telling the story, although he himself admits to living in Wyoming with his wife, "the meanest woman in America" and is sufficiently offended if someone confuses him with an Australian.

Kennedy said he finds his work by word of mouth and estimates that he will shear 4,000 U.S. alpacas this year, along with about 20,000 sheep. During his five days in the St. Louis area, Kennedy visited a dozen farms, following a schedule coordinated by Dale Pessin of Wildwood who warned that "he'll be moving fast."

And he was. In less than two hours, the shearers were headed to the Timm farm, guided by Global Positioning Satellite equipment in their car.

Klein, 23, whose family makes handcrafted jewelry and raises alpacas part-time in western New York state, said he is enjoying his three-month stint with Kennedy because it's a good way to see the country. He said they work seven days a week, usually spending the night at the day's last scheduled farm.

"I love it," Klein said. "You couldn't find nicer people--it's a farm thing."

Date: 6/23/05

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