(2 minute read)

Herdy had always believed he was born to roam free. Unfortunately, unlike most Herdwicks, he had also been born with very little sense of direction.

“Today,” he declared, adjusting his tiny rucksack (which contained three emergency muffins, a flask of tea, and the map he was holding upside down), “we conquer the mighty fells of the Lake District!”

Sheppy barked excitedly, though mostly at a passing crisp packet flying past in the breeze.

They set off toward the rolling hills, aiming for a gentle hike near Catbells. Herdy insisted it was named after a rather tubby, very polite cat who rang a little bell before dinner. Sheppy didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

The path was rocky and surprisingly steep.

“Are we nearly there?” panted Sheppy, who had already run twice the distance Herdy had walked.

“We’re on the ridge of greatness!” Herdy replied, immediately stumbling over a rock the size of a chocolate cake. Even a sure-footed sheep can occasionally get caught out.

“I meant to do that,” Herdy added quickly, his cheeks going pink.

Sheppy didn’t believe him.

Halfway up, they paused to admire the shimmering waters of Derwentwater.

“Wow, look at that view!” barked Sheppy in wonder.

“Yes,” said Herdy wisely. “It’s really baaa-utiful.”

A passing hiker stopped and stared at the unlikely duo: one small, determined Herdwick with dramatic ambitions, and one slightly excitable sheepdog racing back and forth.

Herdy waved cheerfully.

“Don’t worry,” he called. “We know what we’re doing. We’ve got a lambmark route planned.”

“You mean landmark,” whispered Sheppy.

“That’s what I said. Lamb. Mark.”

Further along, they encountered a sign pointing toward Scafell Pike.

“Ooo,” said Herdy. “Let’s climb up there.”

“That’s the highest mountain in England,” Sheppy replied proud of his knowledge.

Herdy squinted at it through the rain. “It does look pretty steep though.”

Then, out of nowhere, a sudden gust of wind knocked them sideways.

“This weather is shear madness!” cried Sheppy, clinging to Herdy’s wool.

“You said you’d checked the forecast!”

“I did! Well… I looked outside,” murmured Herdy.

“Mmmm,” said Sheppy, quietly contemplating a swift and heroic retreat.

They huddled behind a rock to shelter from the wind and rain, sharing their emergency snacks — all three of which Herdy had already nibbled for “safety testing”.

At last they reached a modest summit. It wasn’t the one they’d aimed for, but it was definitely a summit.

At that very moment, a huge gust of wind blew up, strong enough to knock Herdy clean off his hooves.

Looking rather windswept and slightly embarrassed, Herdy planted a small stick firmly in the ground.

“I name this peak… Fleece Fell!”

They both giggled.

“I’m not sure it’s a fell though,” said Sheppy. “It looks more like a bump.”

“Every mountain starts as a bump,” Herdy replied thoughtfully. “Then people stack rocks on it,” he added, faintly amused by the strange customs humans had.

Herdy puffed out his chest proudly and proclaimed.

“Today we have roamed free. We have climbed. And we have not been beaten by the elements!”

Sheppy ran in circles and barked excitedly. “Same time next week?”

Herdy grinned.

“Absolutely. But next time… we bring four muffins.”

And together the two bedraggled adventurers trotted home — slightly muddy, extremely proud, and already planning their next adventure.