All the sheep are looking at me. They communicate. Every last one is paying attention (maybe pretending not to). They line up and stagger and shield each other, so all can see and important ones are protected from the threat I may pose. Then the sick one is brought to the front. It sneezes twice and its face looks strangely grey. They leave it behind, alone in the middle of a semi-circle: the sacrificial lamb to a potential preditor. It limps away, but it’s still closer than any other sheep and they all go back to the business of eating and lying down and so on: while they wait to be fleeced again.