(Rochon) Sligo, Where the Sheep and Cows go

Tattooed Sheep

Never have I gazed on so many sheep all at once.  Cows oh yes, many of those, but not the wooly ones... The woolies were everywhere.  They were scattered white cotton balls lounging in their fenced in homes.  I wanted to feel the softness of their wool, but that was sadly not an option...  It took a few observant glances of my eyes to spot something peculiar about all these flocks.  As cute as they were,  tattoos covered their backs.  A wooly gang ran by a farmer who owned the whole turf.  They paint their sheep with different colors to give them identification. Some horses found the woolies fun to chase and dispersed a large group by galloping through the middle of the flock.  The woolies bleated their discontent, but the horses that neighed back would not relent.  As our bus continued on its way, the horses and sheep shrank to peas.

Photogenic Cow

There was also a plentiful stock of raw hamburgers that live by the sheep.  Mooing could be heard throughout the entire trip.  Especially during the assent to Knocknarea's summit.  The cows were so well hidden behind the earthen walls surrounding the mountain's passage that at one point, it seemed like the earth was mooing. These cows do not mind humans approaching them or capturing their images.  In fact the bovines seem to relish the attention. The cows did not move much except for their chewing mouthes, but their constant mooing made up for their lack of mobility.  As I fought my way up the mountain, the bovines became black, white, brown, and tan ants.  I somewhat slid my way down the slippery slopes that affected my knees now more than my lungs. The cows regained their formal size and shape and mooed their congratulations to us all who endured that tribulation.