“Seriously?” I said. “When you wanted to breed pigs for meat you fell in love with the pigs and ended up screaming, ‘I will never eat their babies!’ Remember?”
Five minutes after we got the call from the States that CJ’s dad had died, Jenny showed up at the door with a baby ewe lamb. The little white fluff ball needed care – bottle feeding every 3 hours – and CJ needed something to make him happy. It was, some would say, a match made in heaven.
We start looking around. There’s no doubt about it. One of our hens has disappeared.
“It’s Henrietta,” I say. “She’s gone.”
I knew my dad was dead.
Hamish is the stock agent who grazes his sheep and cattle in our paddocks. “You’ll see lambs out there in the spring,” he added.