Going out to check the ewes and lambs last night before dark --- where's Molly? She was all the way back down the far end next to the fence and the coyote-filled woods, sitting tight in the wilderness spot where she first gave birth again, with her new born and still somewhat fragile baby, who was already shivering, close by.
So again lamb-stealer Mick picks up the wee one and, tucking said lamb under his arm just like the good number 7 flanker he used to be, runs for the try-line of the barn door.
Only a 90-yard dash.
Where is Eddie Waring when you need him?
And Molly, a large, woolly, guided missile, programmed perfectly, came right after at full warp speed, crossed the threshold without slowing, and was duly locked in the slammer again for the night with her wee lambie and a nice heat lamp.
How many times do you think we can do this before she catches on?