I was always sort of a ‘big bruiser’. Not to say I was mean, but I was just a big guy and that meant I could pretty much get my way. But I started getting a bit old and thin, and the farm I was on, which wanted me for my wool, said it was time to go to the butcher because my wool wasn’t growing enough.
I was good friends with my shearer (we practiced wrestling together) and I told her about this, and she leapt into action to make sure that me and my good friend Pippa could come to her farm. I don’t know why she likes me, because I’ve always given her a hard time on shearing day, but some ladies are like that – they like the bad boys. Lucky for me that’s who I am (though I’m getting mellow in my old age). They say I was born in 2010. Gosh, I feel older than that but all I can say is I’m awfully glad I never got to meet that butcher!
