Today I found our feral sheep, Wooly, lying dead on the forest floor. Not unexpected, she had finally been unable to stay on her feet. Over the past couple of weeks she spent more and more time lying down and became less and less nervous of human contact. Just yesterday I made another attempt to get her on her feet but she was too weak. A bowl of water was the best we could do for her.
This is no tragedy though: she lived an unsheep-like independent life among the woods and fields and finding her stretched out in a sunbeam seemed a remarkably suitable and happy end.