Earlier, before the rain began to fall once again, I was digging out thistles in the field and paddock and cutting down nettles.  I was accompanied by none other than Wiggle who, ignoring the rest of the flock,  vied for my attention by bleating and nuzzling against my leg.  It was sunny and hot and I wondered if he knew where the water  was located in this part of the field.  So I took him over to the trough and he gladly took a drink.