“Do you leave the sheep behind in winter?” “Hooch, aye, I leave them behind right enough, I leave them ahint, and they’re all eaten before I’ve been hame a week.”
“Folks are always asking me why we don’t let the sheep stay in Scotland. Well, we want the grass for the cows, and what they don’t eat is for the ewes and lambs, so these have to make way. There’s such a lot of land destroyed (by drought) in England.”
We have already noted that sometimes a pet sheep is found in the flock. A time arrived when we were able to see a “pet sheep,” one that would come forward when the shepherd approached to see whether his master had a piece of hard, dry bread in his pocket. The prime favourite was “ma black-faced brute”—it will be understood that, in Scottish speech, the term is one of endearment. This sheep, “John,” would stand on his hind legs, take the bread like a dog, and show general intelligence not usually associated with such creatures. “I had one sheep, which, when I touchit ma breast, would stand up and put his feet over ma shoulder, and round ma neck.”
There were four or five of these tame sheep one year: Jock, John, Jamie, and Jean, but John was the favourite. “I dunna want more than one of them around me.” The shepherd was beginning to cut some shavings from a small cake of tobacco . . .