Meet Dolores

You can't learn to spin without fiber, so a couple of weeks ago I sent away to an online operation specializing in such things and ordered two pounds of Romney roving. I've heard from so many people that Romney is a good beginner's wool that I decided to go with it.

Last night after work I was kntting on the Regicide Scarf (it's coming along well, thank you for asking) when a call came up from the concierge saying I had a delivery from Twelve Willows Farm. "You want me to send 'er up?" he asked.

"Absolutely," I said. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. And then I opened the door, and then I saw this.



"Hi," said the sheep.

"Hello," I said.

"I assume you've been expecting me?" said the sheep.

I wasn't quite sure how to answer that.

The sheep held out a small slip of yellow paper with "TWELVE WILLOWS FARM: BILL OF SALE" printed in block captials across the top.

"Um...I was expecting two pounds of Romney roving," I said.

"No kidding," said the sheep.

"Are you two pounds of Romney roving?"

"Eventually," said the sheep.

"You're not quite what I anticipated," I said weakly.

"Yeah, well I thought you'd be taller," said the sheep.

She extended a hoof. I shook it.

"I'm Dolores," she said.

"I'm Franklin."

"Swell. Terrific. Are you going to ask me to come in or what?"

I stepped aside and Dolores toddled into the living room, pulling a small purple wheelie bag. She settled herself on the sofa, stretched out and burped delicately. There was a faint aroma of hay.

"Traffic from the airport was a bitch," she yawned.

I sat down in my armchair and we looked at each other for a few minutes.

"So, chatterbox, are you going to offer me a drink or do I need to get it myself?"

"I...well...what would you like?"

"Whisky, neat, thanks."

"I have...orange juice."

"Oh," sighed Dolores, "this is going to be some gig. I tell you what, big shot. Point me to the powder room. I need to freshen up and then we're going out for a wee drinkie."

While Dolores was brushing her teeth, C called.

"How's your day going?" he asked.

"A sheep is here," I said.

"Oh?" he said.

"Yes," I said.

"What does it want?" he said.

"It wants a cocktail," I said.

"Of course it does," said C.

To be continued, apparently whether I like it or not.