This is just a wee little post about a wee little wonderful thing I saw this evening.
My soccer buddy invited me over for a fresh grilled swordfish meal. While I shouldn't pass over the meal so quickly, because it was scrumptious (SCRUMPTIOUS!!), I really want to talk about lamb formula.
So soccer buddy keeps sheep, among which is a tiny little lamb. My friend mixed up something that looked like condensed milk and water and, with a sheepish (hee) laugh, pulled out a perrier bottle. "My lambs only drink from a perrier bottle." He funnelled the stuff into the bottle, squeezed a plastic nipple on it, and we went out to the pasture.
"Yell hello," he says to me. So I yell. And sheep perk up their heads, as my voice echoes across the valley.
But I don't have that familiar, that-human-who-feeds-me voice. My friend calls again, "Hallo!!" The baaa-ing begins.
We squeeze through the gate into the dewy pasture, and a little lamb, about a foot tall, runs gawkily up to us.
You know what? He let me feed her. This bold little white sheep with a brown patch.
She literally sucked that bottle dry in a minute flat. Frankly, he did most of the work because my perrier-formula-bottle-holding technique is a bit novice. He even got her to bend down onto her knees a bit while she drank.
Have you ever see a scampy little lamb in action? I wish I'd got out the camera, but it lives on my car seat.
Man. This is the kind of great stuff I get to experience now, post-city. I also had a long conversation with a guy today about place. Neither of us spent our childhoods in one place only, and consequently we don't have much of a sense of roots anywhere. But it is very interesting, albeit slightly false, to actively choose to put roots down. It's so conscious an experience.
I'm betting there'll be lots more on this theme.