Today saw another outbreak of mad animal play: today it was the sheeps’ turn. An amiable farmer called Sandy had agreed to haul Spiro and Agnew off and shear them, a process which is long overdue. We have begun to worry whether in this fine weather they would actually keel over with heat exhaustion. But the problem was catching the buggers. There were five of us deployed about the sheep field, but S & A were having none of it. Eventually, they overreached themselves; they ran straight up the field, which is wedge shaped, thus successfully trapping themselves in the point of the wedge where they got their horns stuck … I was left to keep them thus stuck, basically by leaning against them to wedge them in, and holding one horn each of either animal, while Farmer Sandy went off for his trailer. They are of course, incredibly hot, and smelly, and panting, and stand on your foot, and you find oneself in a buzzing cloud of flies. But when the pair of them were driven off, blatting indignantly, we found ourselves in possession of a handsome but completely surplus male Labrador, who had it seemed, come along for the ride but at some point had jumped ship. An hour or so later, Spiro and Agnew were returned, less than half their former size and the dog reunited with his people. We also have their fleeces; despite my ludicrous barbering attempts of a month or so back, the two sets of wool completely filled the wheelbarrow. They must be awfully glad to be rid of it all, not that they are in the least grateful, of course. Now we will see if anyone can think of anything sensible to do with all that wool, it is rather nice, fine and straight, and it seems a shame to waste it.