“Is that it?” says Suze, as Luke steps away to take a picture. “For God’s sake, that was nothing!”

“Ride sheep!” shouts Minnie with determination. “Want to ride sheep!”

“Off you come—”

“Ride sheep!”

And I don’t know what happens—if Minnie kicks the sheep or what—but suddenly the sheep gives a leap, dodges the grasp of the guy in the T-shirt, and starts off around the arena at a brisk trot, with Minnie clutching on for dear life.

“Oh my God!” I scream. “Help!”

“Stay on, Minnie!” Suze is screaming beside me.

“Save my daughter!” I’m almost hysterical. “Luke, get her!”

“Well, look at this!” the announcer is booming through the loudspeaker. “Minnie Brandon, age two, ladies and gentlemen—only two years old and she’s still on!”

The sheep is trotting and wriggling all over the place, with Luke and the T-shirt guy trying to catch it, but Minnie is grimly fastened to its back. The thing about Minnie is, if she wants something badly, her fingers get a kind of super-strength.

“She’s amazing!” Suze is gasping. “Look at her!”

“Minn-eeeee!” I cry in desperation. “Heeeelp!” I can’t watch anymore. I have to do something. I clamber over the fence and run into the arena, as best I can in my flip-flops, my breath coming fast and hard. “I’ll save you, Minnie!” I yell. “You put my daughter down, you sheep!”

I charge at the sheep and grab it by the wool, intending to wrestle it to the ground in one simple move.

Bloody hell. Ow. Sheep are strong. And it trod on my foot.

“Becky!” Luke yells. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Stopping the sheep!” I yell back. “Get it, Luke!”

As I start chasing the sheep, I can hear laughter from the audience.

“And Minnie’s mom has joined the fray!” booms the announcer. “Go, Minnie’s mom!”

“Go, Minnie’s mom!” a crowd of teenage boys at once echoes. “Minnie’s mom! Minnie’s mom!”

“Shut up!” I say, flustered. “Give me my daughter!” I launch myself at the sheep as it trots by, but it’s too quick, and I end up crashing down into a patch of mud, or even worse. Ow. My head.

“Becky!” cries Luke from the other end of the arena. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine! Get Minnie!” I flail my arms. “Get that bloody sheep!”

“Get that bloody sheep!” the teenage boys immediately echo, in fake British accents. “Get that bloody sheep!”

“Shut up!” I glower at them.

“Shut up!” they joyfully return. “Oh, guvnor. Shut up!”

I hate teenage boys. And I hate sheep.

By now Luke, the guy in the Arizona State Fair T-shirt, and a couple of others have cornered the sheep. They pin it down and try to remove Minnie, who is totally ungrateful for their help.

“Ride sheeeeep!” I can hear her yelling crossly as she clutches on to its wool. She looks round the audience, realizes she’s the star of the moment, and beams, lifting one hand to wave at everyone. She is such a show-off.