I’m in love, still in that fuzzy, dewy-eyed state where he can do no wrong, where he’s perfect, everything you could wish for: well-formed, sturdy legs, good teeth.  His temperament – that virtue once highly valued but alas seen as weakness today – is one of joyful bonhomie.  He is always pleased to see me, never pouts or complains.  Our new ram, Ace, is delightful.

 

In fact, he came from a flock which was so well-adjusted, so intensely curious about everything around them, so unafraid of humans, on a scale of one to ten of ‘psychological health’, they would have scored a ten.  And Ace is not so full of himself that he would push and shove at me – as others I have known would – to get at his grub.  He keeps a respectful distance until the food is in the trough and then inches forwards, as if to say, ‘Well, excuse me … mind if I take a mouthful?’  He finishes up well, no waste to encourage Mr and Mrs Crow to feel they can come along any time and get a hand-out.  Already he has made friends with Mrs Magpie who sits on his back and relieves him of ticks and bugs.

 

He was a little depressed for a day or two, missing his brothers – he is a triplet – and the other dozen or so in the flock.  But he has rallied now, sniffing the air for the telltale signs that destiny calls.  One day soon he will get to cross the fence, join the ladies who know a good thing when they see one.  For now, they stare and wonder about this new guy in the neighbourhood, follow him on Ewebook, but I digress …the Merlot.