Roger's Wah-Wah Sheep

Sheep-Fighting Man was hay-timing last weekend but left uncut - for obscure reasons of legal title - the strip of land just beneath my windows, where a lush thicket of grass now flourishes. Or did until this aftenoon. The suedehead sheep he's put to the field spontaneously congregated there, it being the only green on the patch. One thing about hungry sheep: they make an absolutely extraordinary racket. And they don't stop. It's not just the continual sound of grass stalks being swept up into their ravenous maws. They make a strange burbling noise deep in their oesophagoi, perhaps it's trapped wind, perhaps it's eructation direct from the stomach. Whatever, it's loud, it's irritating and it's continuous. And no, you can't just close the windows when the temperature is in the lower 30s. Eventually, I clapped my hands and shouted and they scarpered to the middle of the field, where they stared back at me, murderously resentful at being deprived of their greens. Ha! Eat straw, white slugs. And stay away from my window.