Dear Curiosity Journal,

I pass a simple Sunday among the sheep. After our pedestrian routine of feeding and watering, I go about making some pasture improvements and fence repairs. When the grain frenzy subsides, most of the flock returns to the unceremonious rhythm of grazing and chewing their cud. Only Big Hair Betty follows me with unremitting curiosity, nuzzling my pocket, sticking her head in my tool bucket, and nibbling at the blades of grass beneath me. This must be why they nicknamed the Bluefaced Leicester (BFLs) the shepherd’s BFF. She’s definitely my constant companion in the pasture. I stop to rest in a bed of hay and observe the congregation. Then I close my eyes and listen to the current migratory hymns. At that point, I resolve to repose there indefinitely, until roused by hunger or thirst, not unlike my ruminant companions. Betty and Peter give me an exploratory nudge and continue foraging. Balio scans the horizon for threats. My muscles slacken with fatigue and my skin absorbs some much needed sunshine. I doze off like a character in a childhood fable and count it bliss.