"A week later, I have three jet-black lambs, their pure new wool not yet bleached to chestnut by the sun.
Camillo has a white stripe on top of his head, like a badger. Claudette is a perfect, skittish little madam. Of the three, Emil is very much the runt of the litter and my absolute favourite. The poor chap began life as a girl, until Gilles came and took a look at him and pointed out that he has a couple of extra bits attached. I still haven’t got the hang of this.
‘Emily has turned out to be Emil,’ I tell my mother on the phone.
