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Kirsten Cameron
Eindhoven, The Netherlands
Growing up on a farm in New Zealand, I once had a pet lamb called Gorgeous George. After he grew up and was weaned, he went out with a mob of other newly weaned teenagers to make his way in the world.
One day, I was walking to the beach down one side of the riverbed beside our house. On the other side of the riverbed, the shepherd went past with a mob of sheep. All of a sudden, one of the sheep came running out, baaing away, over to me. I stood frozen, thinking what on earth is going on! As this sheep got to me, I realised it was George! Reunited, I stood patting him as the shepherd kept going with the other sheep.
With George refusing to leave me, my sisters continued on to the beach and I walked back home and put him in the front paddock with Mum’s black sheep – she had decided to take up spinning and knitting so had got some black sheep and was breeding them, getting them shorn, spinning the wool herself and then knitting jumpers.
Anyway, I put George in there with them. He lived his days out there – I remember often coming home from school and calling him over and saying hello to him. Every now and then, I had to walk him down to the shearing shed to get shorn.
Of course, the reality is that he probably didn’t live his days out there – or rather his days may have ended a bit sooner than I admit – but in my head he did.
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