It was an interesting walk with Honey this morning, through the deserted lanes and country roads of Kilbarchan, Renfrewshire.

As we approached a tall, unkempt hedge that separates a field of sheep from the road, a strange, scraping sound could be heard over the cacophony of argumentative crows and rooks. They had obviously taken advantage of a brief break in the rain to settle some old scores.

The alien noise became more intense as we walked. The strange sound then became peppered with almost continuous, angry bleats. The ovine equivalent of cursing and swearing, if you ask me.

A Blackface ram. Not THE Blackface ram, though.

On reaching the point  where the bleating and scraping was loudest, I pulled back some branches on the hedge, to reveal a rather distressed Blackface ram with his left horn somehow hooked over and around the wire fencing. The more he pulled, the more he only succeeded in moving the wire further into the curl of his horn. And the more angry and distressed he became.

With no farmhouse evident in the near distance, there was no real option. I couldn’t just walk on by.

Now I’m no farmhand. I’m no sheep rustler either. But how hard could it be?

I’ll tell you: how easy is it to hook a new key onto one of those infernal looped key fobs? Well – worse than that. Way worse. 

This creature moves a lot quicker and is a lot stronger than a chuffin’ key. It was by now, severely pissed off. It didn’t understand I was there to help it and the poor thing was possibly sensing a jar of mint sauce being produced from my pocket.

Honey, to her credit, stood quietly by – watching. And very possibly laughing. In her paws, I think I would have been too.

I pulled the wire; I bent the wire; I tried turning the ram’s head. Nothing worked. The obstinate creature was intent on fighting against everything I tried. I was butted on my head; I had my shins kicked. I worked up a sweat as I tried in vain to lift his writhing, woolly body up and off the wire.

I swore. Out loud. Honey gave a wry smile.

And then ….. I know not how, the hapless ram was free. I immediately looked around for a hidden camera. This was one of those ‘moments,’ right?

Nope. No camera. But it was indeed one of those ‘moments,’ all the same.

The ram’s feet sought purchase on the now muddy grass – a bit like Scooby Doo before he takes flight.

And then he was gone. Not even a cursory glance backwards. Not  so much as a wee bleat of thanks. Off he went to join the small flock that had kept a reasonable distance throughout the whole drama.

There was much ‘meh-ing.’ Lots of joyous, celebratory, wavering calls.

The ram approached each of the group, one by one. He pressed his forehead up each of theirs, working his way round them all.

Then it dawned – far from being a celebration, the noise they were making was laughter.

“Ha ha! You got him good,” they were likely praising him. “Did you see the colour of his face as he tried lifting you? Priceless. Nice one, Ram.”

I sheepishly gathered up my jacket and hooked Honey back on her lead.

She smiled sympathetically.

“Get them,” she said. “What are they like, eh? Who says sheep don’t have a sense of humour?”