First in Line

I was adopted.  By a lamb.  As I drove up the driveway.

There were no other sheep in sight and one little lamb, presumably a twin or triplet due to its size, was desperately trying to get through the fence to come to me as I drove past.  I got out of the car and helped get it’s final leg through the fence (it was one determined lamb!), took it into the paddock (via the gate this time!) and tried to find it’s mother.  But it wouldn’t bleat, stuck to me like glue, and therefore didn’t attract the attention of it’s mother who had left it way behind.  As it was very cold, wet and windy at the time, it would most likely have died in the paddock.  So home it went with me to be company for Sammy the Lambie.  My daughter has named it Curly.

This lamb is a survivor!  Even though it is small and terribly cute, it is the loudest, pushiest, greediest lamb you could imagine, right under your feet at your every step.  That sort of lamb wants to live.