Picture this: the snow had fallen, and the winter had arrived, bringing along an unexpected guest to our doorstep for Christmas dinner. It was our first Christmas after my father had passed away, and my mother had decided to escape the prying eyes of the curious and find refuge in the caravan park. The owner of the park had been kind enough to open it just for us, and we were grateful for that.
As we sat in the warmth of our small caravan, the heat from our bodies fogged the windows. My mother decided to let some fresh air in and asked someone to open the door. Suddenly, a large, fluffy, and very much alive sheep barged in! It was not there to be dinner, but rather to join us for dinner.
The sheep was a wild one, jumping from one wall to another, and then onto the table, and finally into the bedrooms. My mother screamed in panic, telling us to get the “dirty, mucky animal” out of the caravan. But the kids found it hilarious and decided to dive onto the sheep, which would then bound out of their way. We tried to corner it, but it just charged through us.
We even tried throwing Brussels sprouts at it to get its attention, but that failed miserably. We could not do anything to get it out, and the sheep seemed too big for us to handle. “Mint Sauce, anyone?” Mum shouted. Eventually, the sheep stopped running amok and left the caravan, as if it had understood what my mother had said. We watched as it disappeared into the snow, leaving us with a funny and unforgettable memory.