“Another revelation was the ease with which don Antonio moved around and did things. This was evident to all of us who went to help with the sheep. He opened a small gate by flicking the neat homemade wooden hasp with a flip of his wrist. The last guy through could not close it. He returned and flipped the wrist to close it, then looked at us, eyes twinkling. We just looked at each other. Also, none of us could any more milk a sheep than a lump of coal could fly, whereas he made it look like child’s play: he simply called them over one at a time, by name, and not regular names like Judy or Sue, but made-up names that the sheep seemed to appreciate. Flor de mi alma (flower of my soul), Doña golosina (Ms. Sweety tooth), No te preocupes patito feo, ya serás cisne (not to worry ugly duckling, you will soon be a swan), No me hagas reir, amor (don’t make me laugh, love). What names and we loved them! It was amazing that milking was done and over with in a little over an hour, and as he finished with each one, he thanked them, patted them on the rump, followed with a grumpy voice telling them to get busy and back to work. All told, we ended up with over ten gallons, about half a gallon per ewe, or about average for the type of sheep we had.”
From In the Land of Fire.