The Woolly Wisdom of North Yorkshire
There’s a saying in North Yorkshire: “If it’s not drizzling, it’s probably raining.” For Jack Trelore, humble sheep farmer and part-time philosopher, it seemed there was always a cloud overhead – quite literally. His farm sat on the edge of a moor that rolled away into heather and fog, with his sheep, wife Mary, and sheepdog Bess, and the odd hiker for company (not necessarily in that order, of course). was a practical man, fond of strong tea, strong opinions, and, above all, order. But where there is order, there is always the lurking threat of chaos. Enter Molly, a sheep of such unbridled spirit and insubordinate fluff that the neighbours whispered she was the reincarnation of a circus performer. From the day she arrived, a tiny, belligerent lamb with a shock of wool like a haystack struck by lightning. Molly had made it her mission to challenge every expectation. The trouble began on a Monday, as all good trouble does. Jack was patching a fence and humming tunelessly when h...

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