On my (mostly) daily walks in the hills and dales of this green country, I usually stop and chat with the sheep, which are everywhere. They have three primary responses to my attempt to strike up conversation. A few are aloof. They go on eating as though I am no more than a crow squawking at the roadside. A few stand stalk still and stare at me, puzzled, perturbed, indignant, bleating complaint. I don't speak sheep, but their message transcends the language barrier: Go away.