Here is a Mountain of Sheep, ok, hill. Picky, picky.
Dear little Maggie. She arrived at our gate a few years back and has never left home, ever. It might be the breakfasts – just sayin’ – and I think it is.
And Edna, who again came off the hill in a gaunt state along with her daughter, Madge, now has double chins and no teeth (i think I can relate). How has that happened?
She is set and happy in her routine. I am her slave. We both know this.
And then there is the bulk that is Lambie. Basically a lozenge in shape, sheep …..
…. and possibly in mind! This morning he was closed for business. We had no conversation.
Harrel-The-Barrel spent his morning optimistically following me and my restaurant around.
And the noble profile that is ‘Bert. What a guy,
Lambie obstinately remained immune to my presence or my camera. Snooze on Lambie.
And *** cough *** The World’s Fattest Sheep – Madge. It is not my fault she is so fat – she had her tags cut out and was chucked onto the hill to die. Like a refugee, she only has to look at an éclair to put on weight. I understand this and feel her pain.
And lastly, but not leastly, we have ‘Ster who is just a misunderstood sweetie with huge separation anxiety. Guys? Guys? he shouts as they all wonder off and say nothing.
So this is my Mountain of Sheep, which is really a small hill.