(IVANNA)
I climb over the railing and hold out my hand. "Come here, Lamborghini."
My little lab comes tottering over me as it bleats, obviously happy to see me. At least, that is what I feel. I love her to death.
Vikram, the man in charge of the sheep said I have to speak Russian to the lambs. He said that it is the language they understand, and I can't complain. At least, it would help me to learn more Russian. I have to admit though that he is right. It is easier to speak in Italian to an animal than a human who will only end up criticizing my pronunciation.
Lamborghini eats out the tiny pellets out of my palm as her soft mouth and tongue tease my skin. According to Vikram, the lamb is just three months old and would have been killed and sold sometime in the next two months if I hadn't intervened. Much as I hate being grateful to Sergio for anything whatsoever, I'm relieved that Lamborghini won't end up on the dinner table.
