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Lily always loved shearing days, but this one was especially nice, with freshly-bloomed tulips sweetening the air, and the farmer even more smiley than usual. She soaked it all in, watching the careful clippers work their magic on her sisters — first Hazel, then Willow. When all three of them were free of their heavy cloaks and neat as pins, the farmer moved along to check those noisy chickens in the coop, leaving the girls to their own devices.
Willow settled into her usual sunning spot beside the barn. “What color do you think she’ll dye my wool this time? Hopefully it’s purple!”
“Does it matter?” Hazel asked through a mouthful of grass.
“Yes, obviously.” Willow shot her a look. “If it’s purple, that means she’ll knit something for that adorable little girl with the pigtails, and we’ll get to play with her again.”
Lily could barely contain her smirk. “I’m sure we’ll get to see plenty of her either way.”
Willow tilted her head. “Really?”
Hazel hastily swallowed the rest of her breakfast. “What info do you have that we don’t?”
“You know the scruffy man who always visits with the little girl?” Lily trotted closer to her sisters, tightening their circle just in case the cows were trying to eavesdrop on this prime gossip. “He came over last night. Alone.”
Willow repeated her, “Really?” with twice the enthusiasm, overlapping Hazel’s more critical, “Again?”
“Again! But this time—” Lily dropped her voice to a whisper “—he left his sweatshirt behind.”
“No way!” Willow jumped up, all four hooves tapping the dirt in excitement before slowing to a befuddled stop. “What does that mean?”
“That he’s forgetful?” Hazel posited.
Lily rolled her eyes. “That he wants the farmer to wear it, silly! So she thinks of him whenever they’re apart.”
Willow let out a dreamy sigh. “How romantic! No wonder we didn’t hear the farmer’s TV blasting soap operas last night.”
“I bet the only reason she’s not wearing it now is because she wants it to keep smelling like him,” Lily went on, letting herself drift into the fantasy. “She’ll probably wear it all night, and then the scruffy man will come back and see her in it, and he’ll get flustered and stuttery and—”
“—they’ll slobber all over each other’s faces! Like they did in winter!” Willow finished the thought. “The farmer reeeeaaally enjoyed that, remember?”
Hazel shuddered at the memory. “They’d better not do it where I can see.” After a moment of thought, she seemed to come around. “Do you think he’ll move in some day? And bring more of that fancy hay with him?”
“Oh, I hope so!” Lily said.
Willow bleated with enthusiastic agreement. “Then the farmer will dye our wool the most beautiful shades of blue to knit for him! And our playmate will visit all the time, and…”
Lily didn’t care as much about all of that. Mostly, she just wanted her farmer happy, and nothing made her happier than the scruffy man.