Shepherds' Delight

Sheep are not exactly like Marmite, but it would seem people either love them or hate them.

I like sheep, I like the wooly-lanolin smell of sheep, I like watching sheep.
I like people who work with sheep, always have, always will.

My first recollection of a sheepy person was a shepherd from my childhood holidays, who checked his sheep daily using a pony and trap. I was allowed to go on his rounds with him and his sheep dog Bess. George was gentle, quietly spoken, with bright, periwinkle blue eyes under bushy, bushy eyebrows. During lambing old George slept in a traditional shepherd's hut, with a little stove in it to keep orphaned lambs warm. Sometimes I was allowed to bottle feed a lamb.
I like people who work with sheep.

Today I went for a walk down memory lane, to the place I grew up. Typical suburbia, but with countryside very close by. Following the stream through the fields that were our playground as children, I walked amongst the grazing sheep, when a white truck drove into the field and stopped just beside me.
Kangaroo skin hat, shorts, workman's boots, bleached straggling hair, suntanned, great smile with very white teeth, and a Collie Dog in the back of the truck.
An Aussie shepherd, working in the UK.
Ooooh Helloooo!
We talked a little about sheep.
I like people who work with sheep.

Yesterday I saw Mr Jones, the farmer by me here, he is a charming, jovial gentleman with a full beard that puts my Movember efforts to shame. (See yesterday's blip)
He was delighted to report that the sheep I found stuck in brambles is absolutely fine. (I hadn't wanted to enquire previously, because I was convinced it would be bad news.)
I like people who work with sheep.

Of course, I also like people who don't like sheep, but I'll save them for another day!!