Growing up in West Head, our neighbours to the south were Darius and Caroline Townsend — fine, fine people. Neighbourhood children congregated on their hill to play all sorts of sports from morning ’til night.

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The Townsends had a harmless pet sheep named Nancy who roamed wherever she wanted. One day Caroline was baking and ran out of eggs. Dad raised chickens for eggs. Naturally, Caroline phoned Mom and asked if my little brother, Francis, could deliver half a dozen eggs. Mom had run out of egg cartons and, as a last resort, she put six eggs in a plastic Ben’s bread bag.
That was an accident waiting to happen. Francis left home with instructions to be extra careful with the eggs — OR ELSE. All was well until he walked in the driveway and up the hill. As Francis crested the hill, Nancy walked towards him and he was not impressed. What if she bit him? Francis took the bag of eggs and swung it around and around and then whacked old Nancy over the head. Nancy took off on the run. She wasn’t used to that kind of treatment. Francis walked to the house with his bag of scrambled eggs and passed them to Caroline

.Caroline had been watching out the window and had seen the drama unfold. She phoned Mom and said she had a cute story to tell. There was only one condition: Mom had to promise that she would not punish Francis. After all, he was just an innocent little blonde-haired boy who felt threatened by that beast of a sheep, Nancy. Mom promised and Caroline recounted the whole story.

I expect that was the last time Mom put fresh eggs in a flimsy Ben’s bread bag. Perhaps that explains why Mom and Dad hoarded egg cartons until they died.
Wishing you a good day!