As Dad watched me tend to my sheep Kevin, he said, ‘I’m so proud of you, love.’
We lived on a farm, and as soon as my parents had brought Kevin the ram home, I’d been drawn to him.
I was 12 and, before I knew it, was racing home from school to see my favourite four-legged fleecy friend.
Kevin was a North Ronaldsay sheep, one of Britain’s rarest breeds, and I was an aspiring shepherd.
We started entering Young Handler classes across the country, where I was judged on how well I could show him.
But Kevin wasn’t just a pet – he was my partner in crime.
Relaxed, cheeky, and full of baa-nter, he spent most of his time strolling around the garden with me, chomping on fallen pears or sneaking a nibble from the hedges.
One summer, we even took him – and a few of our other sheep – to a local care home so residents could meet them.
‘He’s beautiful!’ one lady gasped, stroking his fleece.
Kevin looked smug, strutting around as if he owned the place.
Throughout my school years, Kevin was my rock through everything – anxious exam mornings, muddy show days, and every wobbly teenage moment in between.
By the time prom rolled around when I was 16, there was only one question on my mind.
‘Do you mind if I bring Kevin?’ I asked my boyfriend, Oliver.
'He's stealing your spotlight'
‘Of course not! Wouldn’t expect anything less,’ he laughed.
So, on the night, while everyone else worried about tuxes and corsages, I was brushing Kevin’s fleece and polishing his halter – which, naturally, matched my dress.
When we arrived, leading him across the field towards the marquee, jaws dropped faster than a shearer’s clippers.
‘Only you, Milly!’ my friends shrieked, filming us on their phones.
‘That’s the best prom entrance I’ve ever seen!’ one of the teachers laughed.
Kevin behaved like a total gent.
He trotted along proudly beside me, stopping only to nibble a patch of grass when the cameras flashed.
We posed for photos, and Oliver couldn’t stop giggling.
‘He’s stealing your spotlight!’ he teased.
After that night, I was convinced nothing could top it.
But then GCSE results day arrived.
Kevin trotted beside me to school, his hooves clopping along the pavement.
Hope he doesn’t eat my results, I thought.
‘Milly’s brought her sheep!’ someone shouted.
‘Of course she has,’ another piped up. ‘She wouldn’t be Milly without him!’
Even our headteacher grinned, ‘I should’ve known you wouldn’t show up alone.’
With Kevin standing at my side, I tore open the envelope.
My stomach flipped – two 7s, two 6s, and passes across the board.
‘Yes!’ I whooped, hugging Kevin’s neck.
He bleated loudly – which I took to mean, ‘Told ewe so!’
I was so thrilled to be accepted on to an apprenticeship in Animal Nursing at a veterinary practice.
That evening, Mum and Dad treated me to a celebratory meal.
‘You’re not old enough for beer yet, are you, Kev?’ I teased before we left.
He blinked lazily, probably thinking, ‘Just bring me back some chips.’
From a shy Year 7 who barely spoke up in class, to a GCSE graduate with her fleece-covered best friend by her side, I’ve learnt that you can’t put a price on the love of a good sheep.
Kevin’s always been there, calm, comforting, and occasionally chewing on something he shouldn’t!
Now, four-year-old Kevin and I are training for the Young Shepherd of the Year competition.
He’s already mastered the tricky bits, like standing still and not trying to eat the judge’s clipboard!
We’ll always be a team. He brings me shear joy!
Milly Johnson, 16, Preston, Lancashire