Saturday's Fank

On Saturday, my niece had her 7th birthday.


Her Mum - my sister - was taking her and some cousins and friends ten-pin bowling, but the Wee Guy worked at the sheep with Big Brother all day. 


All. Day. 


So, while this wee girl readied herself for blowing out her candles...

(are you seeing her ear? That was her present, and boy, was she chuffed!)

...the Wee Guy spent his day here.

Here he is with Big Brother, discussing the day's strategy.

Or maybe, it was what they had for breakfast they were comparing. Apart from sheep, and the merits of Border Collies, food is one of their favourite subjects.

There they are in the middle of the photo, ready for the opening of gates for their own sheep.

The Wee Guy would say, 'Yours', and BB would duly open his gate to let another of his sheep in.

'Nope'

'Yours!'

And in it comes.

This was the first time I'd seen this happening, and by the time I'd spent my morning a few minutes there, I reckoned I could have done it myself.

Of course, I didn't offer. I didn't want to show them up.

Ahem. Moving on...

The sheep get moved up here, over there, into here, out of there, and down through here.

Did you get that?

Good, cos I haven't a clue.

Until, just before I left, I realised they were coming down the passage and the different owners opened their own gates to allow their own in.

I had always wondered how on earth they took all the sheep from the machair into the fank, and were able to doze their own, pedicure their own, and separate them into their own fields if that's what they were wanting to do.

Now I know!

And now to a selection of some of the sheep.

They must be twins.

'Oi, are you girls twins?'

"Ignore her. Just turn away, and she'll leave us alone."

So I did.

Remember Jenny Miracle. Here she is in all her splendour.

I don't know what these are, but their white faces and colourful markings make them look like ready-made jumpers. (Er, 'jumper' is a sweater to you guys over The Pond)

Aren't these guys lookers?

Now, wait til I see if I get this right? I reckon they are Blue-faced Leicester on Cheviots.

'A Chairstiona - am I right?'

She's not answering me, but I'll correct it later if I'm wrong. Not that, when it comes to sheep, I'm likely to be wrong, of course. I mean, I knew what they were anyway. I didn't need their owner to be standing beside me on Saturday telling me. 

Yes, well, moving on...

Coming towards the end of the sorting...

...and the last lot are being guided (for 'guided', read 'scrambled') up through this gate, where they will hang around in the waiting room until it's their turn.

Boy! I could do this myself the next time. 

Yeah. Wot-evah