Dear Curiosity Journal,

I sense a slight shift in the behavior of the twin lambs since their separation from the flock for breeding season. As underlings among adult animals, they’ve attached themselves as shadows to their mother, moving to the unspoken union of flighty prey, astronomical fear – their guiding star. This is the fundamental distinction between Betty and her babies. Rejected from birth, Betty was cradled in human arms and fed by a warm-hearted woman’s hand. Her fear of humans is far from absolute. Her instinct to run from biped footsteps, counterintuitive – behaving more like a dog than a sheep in this respect. I consider how this anti-ewe behavior has won her my favor and simultaneously marvel at how shepherds of other eras won the trust of the anxious underdogs of nature, a bond with dependent babies, no doubt. Now I witness a newly budding curiosity in the twins, an upgraded interest in their shepherdess, for now she is subbing for their mother in the form of fresh hay, water, mineral, handfuls of barley, cuddles, and a love that leaps from one species to another. Beauty, the black sheep, forever frightened by my outstretched fingers now nuzzles her nose in my palm, unsolicited, craning for my attention like an impatient toddler – a curious conversion of character, indeed, which presses the unwieldy weight of motherly responsibility into the center of my chest when I consider the possibility of “bottle babies” or fatalities in June.