By the end, I was nodding along and willing to launch a crusade against all weak, overbred flocks, prone to scours and fly-strike, crowding out the honest sheep of the world. “Maggots!” he’d said, shaking his finger at me. “Maggots ’n piss in t’ flaps o’ they hides!” I think of him often.
I love this narrator. Endeared immediately.
