The princess and the pauperette

I dunno... (Nora here, in-house Random Immaterial Concerns Specialist); sometimes I worry that Sam gets the short end of the stick in our endeavors.  To whit: yesterday yours truly spent her time strolling about Brandon and dining on (akk, shall I say it?  Ok: LAMB but not one of ours!) with a trio of glamorous and witty out-of-town visitors.  Meanwhile Sam spent the day breathlessly disassembling the wooden sheep shelter, hauling it half a mile down the road and reassembling said shelter in the new pasture.  Our phone conversations went something like this:

Sam (gale-force winds howling in the background):  "Nora?"  (pant pant) "The sheep's shelter blew down and... (inaudible)... taking down the...(muffled thuds)...

Nora (piano music tinkling pleasantly in the background):  "Oh, hello daaahling!  You'll never guess who I'm with..." (clinking of fine stemware)

Sam (urgent bleating): "five kids"... (inaudible)... "rescue crew"... (thump, crash) ... "emergency ceasarian" ... "armageddon..."

Nora (genteel laughter) : "Tut tut...  Simply ghastly...  must run... muah...

Simon: "Baaaahh..."

Roxy: "Blehhhh"

May (basso profundo): Muuuuuuhhhhh"

 Old shelter RIP