Sheepish
By Sara Morris Swetcharnik
Visiting a distant relative in a small town in England, we were admiring the view from his picture window of a herd of sheep crossing the hillside pasture.
"Oh dear," he said, "they are not suppose to be there." He picked up the phone and told someone that the sheep were out on the north 40 and assured them he would be right there also. After he hung up the phone, I asked if we could come and help. He said, "Oh no, I think the dog will be rather more effective."
"More effective than two Americans flapping their arms?" I ask. "Yes, rather," says he with the corners of his mouth quivering just a little to restrain a smile.