Sometimes I bring the sheep back to the barn, but most days I just leave it to the expert.
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He somehow manages to send the dogs half-way up a mountain and then have them bring the sheep down at a trot. The only thing that moves is his mouth.
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I, on the other hand, need to trudge up to within 10 yards of the ewes before I get their attention (the dogs just tend to stroll up with me enjoying the view).
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I like to think that he has an easier time of it because he can shout louder than I can.
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But then again it’s probably genetically ingrained. He can count on the experience of five generations of sheep breeders.
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Whereas my family tree shows that my ancestors were already living in London in the 17th century.
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What hope have I got?!
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