I stand and fling my arms around them.
“Thank you,” I say. “This is the best present ever.”
They hold me tight, and I scent mark his cheek before pulling back to curl up in Brooks’ lap again to watch the lambs explore.
“I have one more thing for you,” Riley says. “Well, it’s borrowed, but, uh—here.”
He holds out a stack of three books from the library, and when I take them, I see they’re all about sheep care.
I start crying again, turning to bury my face in Brooks’ shoulder. He strokes a soothing hand down my spine and his purr revs under my cheek.
“You okay, Petal?” he whispers.
“I’m just… So happy,” I manage to choke out, and Riley and Vee drop down to wrap their arms around me too.
I spend the next few days almost exclusively with the lambs. I sit in their enclosure and read through the books Riley checked out from the library for me, learning more than I ever thought I would about sheep care and raising lambs as pets. I make a list of what we’ll need for them as they get older, and then try not to be too invasive when I inspect them to learn they’re both born female. They’re the same age, but I quickly realize they have very different personalities.
The more social one I’ve named Daisy. She likes all the snacks, seems to welcome anyone who wanders by to give her a pat, and has less black on her nose, but more on her knees. She starts following me around after the first day, and bleats at me when she sees me outside her enclosure.
The other lamb I call Bramble. She’s a bit prickly, although she’s warming up to me quickly. She doesn’t like when other people get too close to her, and I’m still learning which snacks she enjoys. So far, it’s yes to dandelion leaves but no to the flowers, no to carrots, lettuce, spinach, and leaves from tomato plants. Corn husks are hit or miss, and a handful of grain is normally a yes. I’ve also learned she likes her space and alone time, which I can’t blame her for.
Daisy becomes attached to my hip, and I suspect if I brought her outside the fence, she’d stick right beside me. I decide to test it when the next Sunday rolls around and I remember Claire’s invitation to join them at gardening club.
Sure enough, Daisy trails after me, happily trotting along at my heels as I let her out of the enclosure and bribe her to follow with treats. I offer for Bramble to come too, but sheturns her back on us and trots into the barn for some peace and quiet.
“That’s okay,” I say to Daisy. “We love her as she is, even if she is a bit antisocial sometimes.”
Daisy stops to munch on a dandelion, and I wait for her to finish before we continue walking the grounds toward the community garden area.
“Do you think they’ll like me?” I murmur to her.
Daisy bahhs, and I sigh.
“I wish I could understand you. But I’m going to pretend you were saying, ‘Of course they will, silly omega!’”
We round the bend, and the fence surrounding the raised planter boxes comes into sight.
“You’re not going to eat anyone’s plants, are you?” I eye her, suddenly second-guessing my idea of bringing herwith me.
But then an excited shout reaches my ears, and I look up to see Siobhan waving at me, a big smile on her face.
“Oh my god, Sage! Is that a baby sheep?” she yells, and then they’re all dropping their tools and gloves and striding through the gate toward us.
“I wondered what Riley was up to,” Claire says. “Checking out those animal husbandry books. Sneaky beta.”
They all coo over Daisy, who nuzzles her snout into their hands and pockets looking for treats she doesn’t find, then accepts pets instead.
“What’s her name?” Wren asks.
“Daisy, and the other one—she’s less social but maybe you’ll see her sometime—her name is Bramble.”
“So stinking cute,” Siobhan says. “I can’t handle it!”
“I was going to come to gardening club with you, but then I realized on my way here that she might try to eat people’s plants.” I wring my hands together, trying not to let my uncertainty show.
“Who cares!” Siobhan says, waving a hand as though to dismiss the concern, then in a baby voice, “She deserves every wittle snacky-snack she can get her cute wittle teef on.”
“Oh my word,” Bea says, rolling their eyes.
