Burt the Sheep

Rhiannon, or Rhi as we call her, is my Tassel Dolly sister and loves the outdoor life, she lives in the National History Museum on the outskirts of Cardiff, spending all her time exploring the historic castle and buildings or playing in the farm and woodlands. She also loves animals and this is the story of how she and Burt became inseparable friends.

Burt, or ‘Burt with a Ewe’, as he always introduces himself, is English, rustled from the borders between Wales and England by out of work salmon poachers from Shrewsbury. He is quite a charmer with the lady sheep. ‘English Casanova’, they would describe him; quickly adding their theory of a Latin ancestry, but not quite sure how? Burt and his ladies all live happily on the rolling fields of farmer Llywelyn Jones, nestling in the Vale of Glamorgan, right next to the picturesque estate of Duffryn House and Gardens, where I, Delyth live.

Burt joined the flock at Jones farm after being bought at the nearby Cowbridge livestock market. He always enjoys telling exciting tales, of his kidnap by sheep rustlers his near death experience at the hands of the criminals in the illegal meat trade and his subsequent rescue by the South Wales Police – Livestock Protection group. This swashbuckling image along with his suave, but not quite sophisticated manner, make him a favourite in any flock.

One day Rhi was visiting me at Duffryn, it was a beautiful Summer’s day as we slowly walked through the prize winning rose garden. The fragrance and colours were overpowering when suddenly we stopped where there was a gap, all the red rose buds were missing.

‘Apparently’, I informed Rhi, ‘someone is stealing the red roses’.

‘That’s terrible’ replied Rhi, ‘do they have any idea who it is?’

‘Not at the moment’, I replied, ‘but the head gardener is on to it! ‘Look, there he is, over there, disguised as a compost heap!’

It was several days later, at Rhi’s next visit, that I informed her of the exciting news; they had caught the thief. It turned out to be a sheep from the next field!

‘Caught ‘red handed’, so to speak, he’d jumped the fence and grabbed the blooms’ ‘Why?’ asked Rhi.

‘Don’t exactly know’ I replied.

We hastily walked over to the scene of the crime and looked through the fence in to the field, there, merrily grazing away were ten to twenty sheep all with red roses tucked behind their ears.

‘He must have been giving them to the ewes’, said Rhi with a shy wink, ‘tokens of his love’.

‘That’s all well and good,’ I said, ‘but he’s locked up in the gardener’s shed at the moment and the farmer has threatened to take him to the Slaughterhouse!’

‘We can’t let it happen, we have to save him!’ exclaimed Rhi in horror!

That evening we ‘sprung’ Burt from the gardener’s shed, stowed him in the back of the park-keeper’s van and the following morning, on one of the park-keepers regular visits, he and Rhi were whisked to his new home at the National History Museum at St Fagans. Thankfully Burt, the romantic ram, is now happily running round the museum farm, back with his ewes at last and out of sight of any prize winning rose gardens!

Happy Days!

Delyth x