Catchy title,eh? Problem is that its true. The school at the end of my drive (incidently my children's primary school... brilliant for commuting, hell for lending milk, bread, suitcases - dont ask) rang me yesterday at 2.29pm, just as I was about to have a well earned lunch, having tidied the kitchen.
'Mrs G?' asked the very polite tones of teacher/friend Mrs H.
'Mrs H?' I answered.
'There appears to be some sheep in your garden.'
In case you were wondering, my garden is visible from the school office.
'Oh,' I said.
This has happened before. I am quite used to sheep in my garden.
With some resignation I put on my boots and went to see the damage. Mrs H was right. There were sheep in my garden. About twenty five of them. They looked so sweet in the afternoon sun, snatching away at my lawn, shitting and wee'ing in that purposeful way they have. Got to be purposeful about something, I suppose, if you are a sheep. Not much else to do.
One hour later, I had located and rang the owner of the sheep. I had built a wall of bikes, prams, sandpits (portable) and bits of wood to keep the sheep in the garden round the back of the house. There was a slide, put sideways, to block another way out through a gap in a hedge. I had artfully placed a huge piece of metal (bloody heavy) across another potential exit, and was having a congratulatory cup of tea, when I saw 25 sheep heading up the drive.
'Christ,' I thought. Not more sheep.
No. Not more. The same. Escaped. Bloody Houdinis, the lot of them.
Ran like a mad woman, waving arms and legs, shooshing them back down drive. Through the exit from whence they had escaped. Put detritus back to cover hole.
Went back to finish tea.
Not long after a man with dog arrived to take said sheep away. I took him round to the back of the house to get the sheep. Empty. Gone. Vamooshed.
'Bollocks,' I said. A faint Baaaa was heard. We both ran round the back of the house, leaped over the slide, put sideways, to block that exit,(remember?) and stood panting in the sun. There were the sheep, all in a neat woolly row, big rumps facing us, carefully eating their way through my juniper hedge.
'Sorry 'bout that,' said the man.
'Woof,' said the dog.
'No problem,' said I.
He whistled to his dog, who immediately barked and started to crawl towards the sheep like Daniel Craig in Quantom of Solace. Haven't seen it yet but surely he must do it somewhere in the film. Spies always do, don't they?
The sheep, instantly alerted, opened their mouths and baa'ed their heads off, at the same time as haring it off down my drive. Hopefully for the last time. The man tipped his hat (honest, I am not making this up) and left. The sheep were nowhere to be seen. Or the dog. Man sauntered down my drive, turned the corner and was gone.
'Well,' I thought.
And they say country life is dull.
Could have fooled me.
Texted my friend and told her about 25 sheep in garden.
She texted back. 'Most people count sheep when they are asleep.'
Ah, that's it, then.
It was a dream. Thank god for that.
But how does that explain the photograph?