They’re Just Not That Into You (And Why That’s Actually Perfect)

Every so often, I’m given a fresh reminder of just how different the real world of alpacas is from the “Disney-fied” version people see online.

The past few weekends I’ve been off the farm, chatting with folks about fibre, socks, and of course, alpacas. People are endlessly curious, and I love that. The questions are always lively, always sincere, and almost always begin with:

“Are they friendly?”

My usual response is, “Well… define friendly.” Most people use “friendly” to mean affectionate. So I say what I always say: “Alpacas are cute. They’re curious. But they’re not cuddly… and they are not especially kind to one another.”

That’s when the eyebrows go up. 

Next comes the predictable follow-up: “Surely you can train alpacas to be friendly?” And occasionally, the "helpful” suggestion: “You could bottle-feed them like goats or lambs; that makes animals friendly.”

The implication lands the same way every time:

If an alpaca isn’t lining up for snuggles, the farmer must not be training them right.

Here’s the funny thing: on the farm, I never have to explain any of this. The alpacas themselves answer the question in about thirty seconds.

Off the farm? It can feel like I’m defending my honour… or my competence… or the surprisingly controversial idea that alpacas are perfectly content not behaving like big, cuddly puppies.

So let’s talk about it... gently, honestly, and without trying to turn alpacas into something they’re not.

Alpacas Aren’t Furry Humans (No Matter What the Internet Says)

We live in a world where social media makes every animal look like a plush toy with a personality curated for our entertainment. Scroll long enough and you’ll find alpacas being hugged, dressed up in elaborate costumes, or following someone like a well-trained puppy.  Sweet as it looks online, it’s not how alpacas actually relate to the world around them.

Want the truth?

They’re prey animals. They survive by being observant and a little aloof. Their personal space is their comfort zone. They don’t seek physical touch. Not from strangers, not from their favourite humans, and honestly, not even from each other.

And here’s the part that surprises people:

It’s not personal - it's instinct. And humans have the exact same instinct. We’ve just been socialized to override it.

On the farm, I demonstrate this before every tour. I remind everyone: “There won't be any touching or petting of the alpacas.” Some guests nod because they read the event description. Others look slightly crestfallen. So I do a little demo.

I choose a volunteer, walk right up into their personal space, stare them straight in the eye and ask, “How does this make you feel?”

Most often, they avert my gaze, lean back a little and say, “Um… not great.” Then I ask, “And how would you feel if I reached out to touch you right now?”

Light. Bulb. Moment.

That is how alpacas feel when people walk straight at them with hands out.

The difference is: humans are conditioned to tolerate the discomfort. Alpacas aren’t. They simply take a step back.

Once people experience that moment, the Disney version evaporates. Finally, the animal is seen for what it is: dignified, observant, self-contained.

Then comes the next assumption…

“But I’ve Seen Them Walk on a Halter and Eat From Your Hand…”

Yes. They do.

You can train an alpaca to walk nicely on a halter. You can teach them to follow you (especially if you’re holding a feed bucket). Some will take a treat politely from your hand.

But here’s the important part:

Training teaches tasks, not affection.

A halter-trained alpaca walking politely beside you is not thinking, “Oh good, my favourite human! Let’s go for a stroll!”

They’re thinking, “Oh, right. This again. Let’s get this over with so I can go back to the barn and be with my peeps.”

They’re smart. They learn routines. But training doesn’t rewrite instinct.

And here’s something I think is worth saying, gently and honestly:

There are moments when alpacas need to tolerate touch... for shearing, medical checks, toenail trims, or anything that keeps them healthy and comfortable. Teaching them to accept brief, purposeful handling is part of responsible care, and it’s always done with their well-being in mind.

But teaching an alpaca to tolerate touch simply so people can pet them? That’s different. It doesn’t add anything to the alpaca’s life or sense of comfort... it’s purely for human enjoyment. And while there’s nothing wrong with wanting that connection, alpacas would never normally choose that.

That’s why, on the farm, I focus on helping guests understand how alpacas communicate, what makes them feel safe, and what their natural instincts look like. Some guests arrive really hoping to give an alpaca a pat on the nose or a scratch on the neck… but by the end of the visit, they’ve discovered something better: they’ve learned to appreciate alpacas exactly as they are.

And, almost without fail, they still walk away smiling.

Which brings us to the deeper concept…

Training vs Imprinting

Here’s where things get tangled for lots of people.

When they see an alpaca walking politely on a halter or taking a treat gently from someone’s hand, they sometimes mistake it for being “friendly” or “bonded.” It looks like affection. It looks like trust. It looks like something you’d expect from a family pet.

But that’s not what’s happening. Alpacas are smart. They learn routines. But training doesn’t rewrite instinct.

Training is simply teaching a skill.

They learn routines the same way we learn the steps to making coffee. Not because we love the process, but because we understand it.

Where people often drift off track is in believing training can rewrite instinct. That if you practice something often enough, an alpaca will start wanting what they’ve learned to tolerate.

But an alpaca can be beautifully halter-trained… and still relieved when it’s over. They can stand for a toenail trim… and still count the seconds until it’s done. They can take a treat politely… and still not want a hand on their neck.

Training changes behaviour. Imprinting changes personality - and that’s a line we never want to cross.

Imprinting is about identity.  It's about who a young alpaca believes belongs in its herd.

It happens when a young animal is socialized in a way that blurs the line between “human” and “herd.” When someone treats a young alpaca like a pet, picks it up, cuddles it, comforts it like a human child, or bottle-feeds in a way that feels nurturing rather than neutral, the animal isn’t learning a behaviour.

It’s learning a relationship. It’s deciding you’re “one of us.”

And once a young alpaca makes that decision, it sticks. You can’t train it out. You can’t love it out. You can’t discipline it out.

A young alpaca who grows up believing you’re part of its herd will treat you exactly the way it treats other herd mates. It always starts as play... the quick nibble at your coat, the wrestling, the pushing. But as they mature, especially the males, “play” isn’t part of their vocabulary anymore. Grown males don’t understand play. They only understand challenge… and fight.

What looks harmless at 30 pounds becomes genuinely dangerous at 180.

Imprinting is not a phase. It’s a blueprint.

And this is where bottle-feeding becomes a bigger deal than most people realize.

A Gentle Word About Bottle-Feeding

Bottle-feeding is one of those things people love to imagine as a sweet bonding moment. You picture a tiny cria looking up at you with those big eyes while you hold the bottle and whisper encouragements.

If done correctly, it looks nothing like that.

Bottle-feeding: all business, no bonding.

If a cria is being bottle fed, something isn’t right. Maybe the dam’s milk is slow to come in, maybe the baby is weak, maybe there’s a latch issue.  Whatever the cause, bottle-feeding is always a medical intervention, never a cuddle opportunity. It’s the “let’s keep this baby alive” stage, not the “look how cute” stage.

And when a cria does need a bottle, the way we feed matters. A lot.

The safest, healthiest approach is what I call “business-only feeding.” Quiet. Efficient. Hands-off.

No cooing.
No eye contact.
No stroking their cheeks or bodies.
No comforting.
No “bonding.”

Some farms even use a feeding stand so the cria can take the bottle without associating it with human interaction at all. It sounds cold, but it’s actually the kindest thing we can do for them in the long run.

Because here’s the part most people don’t realize:

A cria’s brain is wide open in those first weeks. They’re deciding... literally building the mental map... of who belongs in their herd. If we fuss over them, cuddle, chatter, or soothe them during bottle-feeding, we’re quietly teaching them something we never meant to teach:

that humans are part of their herd.

And once a young alpaca learns that, it shapes everything that comes after.

Bottle babies grow up perfectly normal when feeding is treated as the medical task it is.
They grow up confused when feeding is treated like a nursery-room bonding moment.

Which brings me to Wrigley…

Wrigley... The Lesson I Never Wanted to Learn First-hand

Wrigley was born here... healthy, bright, full of personality. He wasn’t bottle-fed. He wasn’t excessively handled. He grew up in the herd like everyone else.

But at around ten months old, in a single moment of stress, he ran to me because I was the only familiar thing in front of him.

I steadied him... naturally, instinctively. It felt small.

But for him, that moment blurred a line... and I failed him.

From that day forward, he related to me less like a human handler… and more like another alpaca in his herd.

And once that shift happens, the behaviour that follows is not “bad.” It is instinctive alpaca behaviour... just directed at the wrong target.

Wrigley became the clearest, hardest example of what can happen when an alpaca interprets a human the wrong way - even unintentionally.

His full story is here if you’d like to read it:

👉 Wrigley’s Story — A Farmer’s Experience

He wasn’t difficult.
He wasn’t dangerous at heart.
He was simply behaving the way alpacas behave.

Here’s How That Plays Out on the Farm

If you’re wondering what all of this looks like in everyday life, let me give you a real example.

Just this week, two of my boys were out in the paddock doing what male alpacas do when they’re sorting themselves out. Chest-bumping, neck-wrestling, and flashing those impressive bottom teeth.

If you’ve never been around alpacas before, it looks dramatic. To them, it’s Tuesday morning.

I filmed it because it shows something most people don’t realize:

There is no fixed hierarchy in an alpaca herd. No permanent “boss,” no tidy social ladder, that once established, is etched in stone.

Their social structure is always in motion.  It's constantly tested, constantly renegotiated, always influenced by moment-to-moment shifts in confidence, energy, distraction, injury, or opportunity. Alpacas will test one another regularly, and they’ll exploit any vulnerability they see.

It’s not personal. It’s not “bad behaviour.” It’s simply how they maintain balance and communicate among themselves.

And it’s the clearest answer to a question I hear so often off-farm:

“Why don’t you train them to be more affectionate?”

Because this. This physical, noisy, toothy negotiation is how alpacas communicate with one another. This is their social language. This is how they express boundaries, discomfort, confidence, and changing dynamics.

And it is absolutely not how you want an alpaca interacting with you.

Here’s the clip:

👉Instagram Reel: Brewster & Emperor getting into it.  

Once you see this kind of interaction, the whole “why can't we pet them?” question makes a lot more sense. Their relationships are real and rich.  They're just built on instinct, movement, space, and awareness, not physical affection.

So… Why No Cuddles?

When you come for a tour and hear me say, “There will be no touching of the alpacas,” please know:

I’m not withholding a magical moment. I’m not being strict. I’m not gatekeeping fluff.

I’m simply respecting what the alpacas tell me - every single day - in their own clear, consistent way.

Alpacas are social, curious, observant, and quietly hilarious. But physical affection is not their way of connecting.

They’re not unfriendly. They’re not shy. They’re just not that into you.

And that… truly… is one of the things I love most about them.

Connecting without contact.  Roller gives a big ole sniff!