Despite knowing efforts to return them to pasture would have a short-lived result, I've rather enjoyed trying. It might have proved instructive to have noted the length of time before their next escape.
They chose our garden as a secondary spot to graze and their presence became a pleasure, especially when they made a solid meal of overgrown kikuyu.
Less endearing was their assault on our silverbeet and rhubarb, but mesh covers dissuaded them from making more meals of our vegetable patch.
Sheep have a quiet and serene presence when left in peace. Paid no attention, they'd nibble grass till their bellies were full then settle in the shade of the grape vine (yes, they snacked on that as well) and olive tree for a postprandial nap.
A bin regularly filled with water under the olive tree proved an attraction. But not quite so much as the tasty salty kayak after the farmer had carried out a daring rescue of boaties stranded offshore as evening turned to night and the wind speed ramped up.
The farmer and I had sunk into our own postprandial state of relaxation, always especially pleasant on a Sunday, when there was a knock on the door.
In an exceptional stroke of good luck, people staying at the nearby marae had taken an evening drive to Batley in a mini-van. At the point, near the boat ramp and about 50m off shore in the channel, they'd had a shouted conversation with three frantic people on an anchored boat. They were stuck.
At first the farmer thought it was the green boat he'd seen earlier. But having raised himself from the comfort of his chair and ventured to the beach, he found another boat in trouble. It had arrived moments after the green boat had left. Bad luck.
Quick thinking was required. He untied the anchor rope from his tinny then loaded the kayak onto the four-by-four for its brief trip from under the olive tree to the point. It stayed in place thanks to guess who crouching beside it and clinging on tight.
The visitors joined the game by holding one end of the anchor rope while the farmer paddled out to the boat with, it has to be said, some difficulty given the strong wind.
The hapless crew tied it to their vessel and, as the farmer paddled back, three mini-van men towed the boat to shore where we soon met its relieved crew. Lightly dressed and getting hungry, they'd have faced an uncomfortable time had the visitors not taken an evening jaunt.
The trick would have been to phone 111 and ask for the Coastguard at Tinopai to come to their rescue. That's assuming there was cellphone coverage, something we're not clear on. They vowed, on future trips, to have more than one communication method – and will surely take warmer gear.
Later, back at home, the sheep came for to drink and dine, and for one cunning ewe an extra bonus, lots of luscious licks of lightly salted kayak.
Then, within days, having eaten every last mangrove seed on the beach, they returned to life within fences. Their water bin remains full.
Over the years the farmer's rescued many people, mostly idiots who've got their vehicles stuck. Many say thanks and promptly vanish. This time the kind boaties offered the farmer $100 for his trouble. He plans to spend it on Coastguard raffle tickets.
