A few days ago, our Amish neighbors let their ewes and lambs into the field behind our house, and my son Sage demonstrated that he hasn’t lost his status as a Lamb Whisperer. (He’d established it when he was five or six and could call lambs to him; I’d posted the picture in the entry “The Lamb Whisperer.”)
Despite being at the ripe old age of seven now, Sage’s gift is still strong. Upon seeing the lambs, he promptly started bleating at them, and three responded.
In fact, two of the lambs lingered near Sage so long that they didn’t notice when the rest of the flock wandered down the hill and across the valley. Upon suddenly realizing their plight, they began looking about in alarm and bleating pathetically.
Fortunately, after a long and suspenseful bleating session, the flock meandered back into view and there was a joyous ovine reunion.
My son also meandered away, triumphant in his still-present ability to lead the lambs astray.