We leapt out of the car to unlock the door and Annie’s friend emitted a cry – sheep! Indeed, the newly fenced-in pasture of our neighbor contained a small herd of sheep, 6 white and 1 black. A few seemed to be recently shorn, but most were overwhelmed by their wooliness - exuberant bundles of fluff on toothpick legs. The flock clumped together, and when one sheep moved, the rest followed behind, cutting a swath through the tall green grass. “All we like sheep?” (Handel, I think).
And now for my sister’s first and best-loved poem:
Two little wooly lambs, a sister and a brother.
Two little wooly lambs, looking for their mother.
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