In the rolling green hills of rural Wales, where the grass is lush and the WiFi is tragic, lived a man named Geraint. A proud Welshman with a twinkle in his eye and wellies permanently welded to his feet, Geraint had two great loves in life: rugby (naturally) and sheep. Not just any sheep, mind you β he had a particular fondness for the majestic mountain variety, with their fluffy coats and judgmental stares.
Every morning, Geraint would don his finest flat cap, grab a thermos of tea strong enough to wake the dead, and set off on a stroll through the fields. It was on these walks that he'd burst into spontaneous song β an original composition, passed down by absolutely no one, titled "Fleece of My Heart." The chorus went something like:
πΆ Oh baa baa beauty, white as the snow,
Through misty moor and valley low,
Your wooly charm, it makes me weep,
Oh how I love thee, glorious sheep! πΆ
Passersby often assumed he was on the phone or possibly mid-breakdown, but Geraint sang proudly. One time, a Japanese tourist mistook him for a wandering bard and gave him a tenner. Another time, a ewe actually followed him home β which he took as a sign from the universe, or maybe just that he smelled like digestive biscuits.
Now, Geraint wasn't daft. He knew people joked about his sheep obsession. His mate Dafydd once got him a jumper that said "Ewe Complete Me." But Geraint wore it with pride. βLet the world laugh,β he'd say, arms wide in the breeze, βfor who among you truly understands the soul of a sheep?β Then he'd dramatically lie in the grass and stare at the clouds like he was in a romantic novel β if that novel was set on a damp hillside with occasional cow pats.
And so, Geraint's legend grew. Not as a shepherd, nor a singer, nor a man with a particularly good grip on reality, but as a local icon of woolly devotion. His song echoed through the valleys, his heart forever tied to the tufty flocks, and his dreams full of baa-rilliant adventures yet to come.