Tillie is positively rotund. Take a football, put a head in the middle the long side of the ball, and stick four delicate slender legs under it. There you have it: Matilda. But she can’t be pregnant because Icelandic ewes don’t come into heat in summer. But her spine doesn’t feel as if she is just fat, either. It’s a mystery. Either way, she is beautiful.
She keeps a close eye on me, too. Sometimes I can sneak by without getting spotted, but not often, and it takes tactical planning to sneak by: I park a-ways down the driveway where the car is not visible from the sheep barn. Then I get out and close the car door by pressing on it with my hip – quietly. I forgo the stone path to my door in favor of crashing through the bushes in front, slip in to the covered porch, look up…
and look into the eyes of Matilda, who's fixed me in her measured gaze. I wonder what she is thinking. If she is thinking.
Getting spotted by Matilda means Marsha will soon follow with her “rat-tat-tat” b-a-a-a for when she wants more food, and I will feel terrible, like I must rush and cater to them, but will not. Discipline, discipline, discipline!