smile, âI donât suppose youâve lost a sheep have you?â
I stared at him as I went over his words in my head. Well, that wasnât what Iâd expected at all. âErm, no,â I said wondering if this was a new sales tactic, start with a completely mad sentence to get me on the back foot then go in for the kill, I looked over at his car and hesitantly returned the wave of the woman sitting in the passenger seat with a scruffy terrier on her lap, not a salesman then.
He continued to smile at me and I felt pressured to expand. âI donât have any sheep.â I gave him an inane smile.
âDo you know anyone who has?â He was obviously a little frustrated with my reticence.
I took a moment to cudgel my brain into a semblance of working order then asked, âHave you found a sheep?â This was turning out to be a very short, succinct and slightly surreal conversation.
He nodded enthusiastically. âYeah it was wandering along the road all by itself and yours was the first drive I came to.â
Right, that made sense. I felt I could actually contribute to the conversation now. âWell, I havenât been here long but our landlord Kevin will probably know which of his neighbours keep sheep.â I nodded and smiled, yes this was definitely a problem I could palm off on someone else. âIf you could tell me where it is, Iâll pop round and see him and heâll no doubt do something about it.â I waved over his shoulder as John the postie pulled into the drive.
âItâs in the back of the car,â he replied and grinned, pointing at his new, un-muddied bespoke 4x4.
âWhat?â I stared at the car and sure enough in the shadows of the tinted boot windows I could just make out the distinctive surprised, black and white face of a small Swaledale, male by the look of the horns, not yet very long but certainly beginning to develop that distinctive curve. âYouâve got it in your car?â I must have sounded a complete half-wit. âHow the hell did you get it in there?â
The man frowned âI just picked it up.â He shrugged. âWeâve got the back all caged off for the dog so I just moved the dog and bunged him in there.â
John joined us, a bunch of letters in his hand. âMorning.â He grinned at the man, then frowned as I blubbered through a sentence that contained the words, sheep and car then stared as I pointed toward the now rocking 4x4. Its remaining passengers were beginning to look decidedly worried.
Swaledales are the local sheep, they are tough, hardy and opportunistic. Approximately two years ago Iâd had a coat that, when I walked, obviously made a noise like a feedbag and I still have outstandingly clear memories of being chased for over half a mile by a very, very intent flock of these things much to the amusement of Geoff, his mother and the kids. I finally got rid of them by ditching the coat and had shivered most of the way home. Ever since then Iâd been very careful to buy only silent cold weather gear.
As we all stood in silence staring at the car, the young sheep became bored and decided that, while travelling in style was great for a while, it was now time to go back to finding those lovely ladies it had obviously been searching for when this well meaning but obviously insane person had kidnapped it.
We all winced as the sheep smashed its head into the window, the lady in the passenger seat gave a short scream and the dog began to bark which only seemed to infuriate the sheep even more.
âHey ⦠HEY!â The man made a leap for his car (evidently his name was Graham, the lady in the passenger seat was now screaming over and over, âGRAHAM! Make it stop!â), I thought he was going to, sensibly, open the door and let it out. No, he ran to the window and began to hammer on it. âYou stop that,â he yelled as though to his dog, âstay!
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