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Tuesday 18 November 2008
By Gloria Dean
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Sheep!!
I put my coat on over the little flowery dress, and slipped my feet into my red
Wellington boots, time to feed the sheep. My grandfather was waiting by the gate to their field.
He gently lowered the sack onto my shoulders, and told me to hold it still, and to make sure
that I put all the feed into the troughs at the far end of the field.
The gate was opened and in I went. They saw me.
The whole flock ran towards me, in a variety of gaits, but all with focus and intent.
The trough seemed so very far away. I tried not to hurry, to walk calmly, and to keep
the bag still.
Then, they were on me, pushing, shoving, butting, I fell to the ground, under a
mountainous heap of hooves, and mud and sheep. I reached for the bag, and picked it up
as best I could, climbing to my feet as I did so. A few more steps and there I was again,
down. The bag split and sheep nuts went everywhere. They pushed even harder now,
and scrabbled for food, their mouths bulging, faces distorted, and their warm breath in my face.
I got up, mud oozing from my boots, grabbing the half empty bag I made a run for it, spilling
more nuts as I did so, this gave me a little time, but they were gaining on me fast. I was
almost there, the trough was almost in reach. Suddenly it was him, the ram, the distinctive
thundering of his hooves filled me with dread. He lowered his head, and as always,
hit me behind my knees and down I went again.
The bag was empty but still in my hand as I turned back, my Grandfather was still leaning
on the gate, his cap pushed back and a smile on his round tanned face, “Nearly ´gal”
a gentle hand rested on my shoulder “keep that up and you’ll get there next time”
I was six then, and my sheep experience has stayed with me always. It was one of many effective, ‘character forming’ methods my Grandfather used. I loved him dearly and he loved me,
we were the best of friends, and I couldn’t wait to have a go at reaching that goal again the next day.
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