Read the story.

Sheep Don’t Knit!

Most of the other sheep on the farm liked to
do nothing but chew and talk. But Irma was bored. She needed a hobby!

Irma considered her options. Playing draughts? Draughts required two players. Irma asked Wilma if she wanted to learn. Wilma did not. Draughts was out.

Collecting stamps? Irma asked Velma if she knew how to collect stamps. Velma said it was too difficult to buy stamps at the post office. Stamp collecting was out.

‘Sheep don’t have hobbies,’ Velma and Wilma said.

‘I’m different,’ Irma said.

Maybe she could try knitting. Just yesterday,
she’d heard Farmer Max talking about learning to knit himself. Irma peeked through the farmhouse window. Farmer Max was sitting by the fire with knitting needles and a big tangle of yarn. He didn’t look happy. He seemed to be trying to knit a bulky jumper. Irma watched carefully. She admired the bright purple yarn.

Irma daydreamed for a moment about knitting herself a beautiful purple jumper. When she looked up again, Farmer Max was was outside. He stomped over to the dustbin, carrying the jumper. He pulled a loose end of
purple yarn, and the jumper unravelled before Irma’s eyes. Row after row of crooked stitches came undone. All that remained was a loose pile of yarn. Farmer Max dumped it all into the rubbish. He threw his knitting needles into the rubbish after the yarn. He tossed a sheet of jumper-knitting instructions on top of that. Then he trudged back to the house.

‘Hrmmpph,’ Irma heard Farmer Max say. ‘A
sheep could knit a better jumper than that!’

‘Well,’ thought Irma, ‘maybe he’s right.’
Carefully, she lifted Farmer Max’s yarn, needles and instructions out of the dustbin.

Wilma and Velma laughed. ‘Sheep don’t knit,’
they said.

‘I’m different,’ Irma said. Her first attempt failed, but she pulled out the stitches and tried again. And kept trying. She was happy. She loved the rich colour of the purple yarn. Slowly, a jumper started taking shape.

Then one morning, Farmer Max announced to the sheep, ‘Shearing today!’ A truck pulled up, and three men jumped down with their shears. They waded into the sheep pen. Quickly, one by one, they sheared each sheep, collected the wool and let the sheep go.

That night the sheep huddled, complaining about their new haircuts.

Velma grumbled, ‘I’m cold!’

‘Too windy for me!’ whined Wilma.

‘Not me,’ said Irma, wearing her lovely purple jumper. ‘I feel just right!’