The Sheepback Champion

I hitched a ride on the canvas strap of an afternoon shopper's bag and hopped off right beside the bustling fountain on Grand-Rue. There, right in the center of the stone paving, a troop of sculpted bronze sheep was frozen mid-parade. You can't just put a sturdy bronze sheep in front of an athlete and expect me to walk past! I scrambled up the cool sandstone plinth, gripped one curled bronze horn with both hands, and swung my leg right over its textured back. Planting my blue shoes firmly into the sculpted wool curls, I leaned back with a triumphant grin. The bronze flock wasn't moving anywhere, but from my high saddle, we were definitely leading the procession.