For many years I have had sheep as my neighbours. They headbutt one another all the time: sometimes in jest, but sometimes they turn into savage fluffy gladiators in the blink of an eye. One sheep in particular always insists I give him rubs, and my hands end up retaining a thick waxy residue, and I smell like sheep for the rest of the day. If I stop rubbing him too soon, he would take two short steps back, and then brutally knock me over as punishment. They’re always excited to see me, even when I return home late at night. I’m always mistaken for the farmer, initially, but they quickly recognise my cryptic baa, and reply joyfully in the same language.