We’re going on a bear hunt.

Well Micro Crofter, your Mum recited this to your brother when he was your age. She thankfully had the sense (which, with so lacking in sleep at the time, was pretty good common sense), to sell off all breeding sheep stock for a few years.

Ode to the Shepherdess:

We’re going on a sheep hunt, we’re going to chase the wee ‘un’. We’re going on a ewe hunt, before she has her lamb.

Bear? What bear? This is Scotland the brave Crofting boy (think The Corries; land of t’ purple heather, land where the midgies gather), there’s nae bears. And besides, your mum has no time for the library at the moment so we’ll just enact the scenes if your pram could just detour the ewe from that gate and try not to roll into the electric fence…

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