Brave, brave Sir Robin

On Saturday, we went to the Annual Sheep and Wool Festival. Where we saw some sheep.

And wool.

It was actually pretty cool; there were lots of different things going on, from fly-tying workshops to weaving exhibits and livestock judging.

There was also, in keeping with my theory, the requisite Incan music band. And we saw some llamas, alpacas, rabbits, and various other wool-providing animals. The crowd was a mix of renaissance festival types, back-to-the-land Whole Foods types, and never-left-the-land bib-overalls types. Plus legions of knitters eagerly seeking out, er, whatever it is they seek out. High-fives all around.

We spent a lot of time checking out the animals. At one point, we came upon a trio of lambs who were nuzzling at the bars of their pen. They were bleating, as they do, but one of the three had less of a baa and more of a "blaaa" going on.

Which, for some reason, I found funny. Samson stood silently studying these guys for a while, and then the one let out a loud "blaaa" and Samson (aka, brave, brave Sir Robin) cried.

Not right away, to his credit. Indeed, you can see in the picture that he's trying to keep it together.

But in the end, he could not. Maybe instead of "no like it," I should teach him to say "run away! run away!"

Lamb-induced trauma aside, he had a good time. And I was content to be out walking around on a nice day (and avoiding yard work).

Although I wondered how the lambs felt, being in their pens and only a few hundred yards away from the kebab stand. They must have smelled the grill and thought, "you know, that really smells familiar, but I can't quite place it."

I hope I never know.