At midnight she trots around the house. In the rain my daughter wakes me at 5:30am to bring the young sheep inside.

Its lamb life here right now - feeding three times a day, keeping half an eye on the weakling who is becoming daily stronger. And there has been not a single bleat - not one - will they come? Will she talk human perhaps?

What is it between a girl and her pet - their self proclaimed best thing ever?

It is the maternal instinct shining through. My daughter’s deft ability to insert the feeding teat so gently - angle the bottle softly and admire - notice everything there is to notice - how the lambs wool is softer and different on her pelt vs her legs and feet. The way she can’t yet see the colour of her eyes - black she says.

I was going to get a friend for this one - a wiltshire ram lamb from Steve but it would take way from the joy of this one, focused love. The one lost sheep the shepherd left the flock to find. There is a singularity to pet love that I know can be extended to more - but right now the pure concentration of petting love is glorious for this father to behold.

The fact the we eat breakfast while this ruminent wanders the hall ways and roams the house - looking so blankly, so quietly - her tapping feet - and exquisite sound of a tap dancer on our wood floors - its all changing and will be gone in the blink of an eye. Don’t doze off now. Not now.