My roommate just came home from a month-long internship on a farm in the south. She brought home a souvenir.
FYI, that is not blood on his back as I worried. It’s an M for Male. It is, however, his own poo on his head because he spent 8 hours in that cardboard box in the car.
The best part is that for lack of a baby bottle, he gets fed milk from a beer bottle.
Common sense spoiler alert: he will not be shitting around—oh, pardon me, I mean sitting around—our apartment. He is going to live among the ewes on Julie’s grandparent’s farm. I really wish I could see the looks she’ll get when she takes him on the train tonight…