Ask my husband the definition of a battering ram and he won’t say anything about a large piece of wood or breaking down the gates of a city. He’ll mention a creature named Billy who practically turned him into a cripple.
He almost got sold yesterday. He would have, except that Roger didn’t have the time to take off to Lexington to the sheep auction. Instead, like a good shepherd, he went down to the field to check on his animals and give them a little grain before getting to work for the day. When some friends drove by and honked, he turned to wave, and in that instant the cowardly bully struck.
He’s no threat to anyone except an adult male – and then only when the man’s back is turned to him. If you look him in the eye, he’s too afraid to do anything to you. He’s not even any good for breeding any more. Almost every sheep in that pasture is his child, grandchild or both. It’s time for a change.
(Roger is more or less fine. Nothing is broken, but he’s walking around with a very stiff leg and much discomfort.)