This is a bit of a throw-back Saturday continuing the story of how I found my sheep, or more accurately, how they found me.

So far we have Lambie who arrived, refused to eat, tried to die on numerous occasions and lived in our house under the stairs as part of the family.

As Lambie grew slightly bigger and increasingly annoying (he would stand behind the fire trying to burn himself to death, or chew on computer electric cables), it became very obvious that he needed to a) leave the house and b) have a little friend to keep him company outside and hopefully teach him the ways of sheep.

So I put out a message on Facebook and received many replies, tried and rejected one applicant due to far too much baa’ing and wee’ing (remember, Lambie is house-trained), and finally decided on a little moorit (dark brown) boy lamb who, like Lambie, was an orphan.

This little chap, who we named Lambert, was perfect.  He had lived with other sheep, rather than in a central heated house with dogs and so knew what it was to be a sheep.  He also liked his bottle and was very greedy.  Watching ‘Bert taught Lambie how to drink his bottle quickly rather than dither about in his usual disinterested fashion.

‘Bert was very good for Lambie. They instantly liked each other, which was perfect.  Problem solved, I thought.

(I must admit that I love looking back at these photos).

I remember this afternoon so well – Daisy carrying Lambie over the burn because he couldn’t walk through it like everyone else.  This was all part of Lambie’s physio routine for his crippling joint-ill recovery.

They were just so cute.