Sheep and being 3.

We had to start selling our sheep a few months back. We sold them in groups, bits at a time, with still a few here to sell.

The first two groups of sheep were sold, a the truck turned up to pick them up.

3 year old son, his ears pricking up at the sound of a truck bustling down the dusty dry road to the farm, running to the window excitement in his voice – “Mum it’s a truck, there’s a truck coming”.

From behind the house yard gate he stood and watched, watched as they loaded the sheep, filling the top deck then down to the lower.

“Mum, where are the sheep going?”. I stop and wonder what to say, will he understand? I tell him we have to sell the sheep, that another man was taking them to his farm to look after them as we did not have any more feed for the sheep. He looks at me, the sadness crossing his face “He can’t take my sheep, they are my sheep and I am going to get them back.”

I swallow the lump that has grown in my throat not knowing what to say, I mean what can you say to a little one like him who has farming in his blood ?

I am dreading the day, the clearing sale day, when he sees all ‘his’ farm machinery being taken away.

I wish it had rained.

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