Sheep valve

'Tis midwinter once again: the six sheep we employ have neatly trimmed the bottom paddock and since nothing is now growing in what we dignify with the name 'orchard' it is time for them to move in there and save me the use of my Famous Allen Scythe.  I had some flimsy bits of wood which looked like planks though they were a bit bendy, and nailed them across the awkward top corner.  But there wasn't enough wood for the rest of the fencing. Accordingly I hammered waratahs into the ground and liberally laced them with sheep netting - if you don't know what waratahs are, or sheep netting is, I shan't enlighten you because you probably live in Alderley Edge or Guildford where these things aren't necessary - and opened various gates and drove the sheep into the orchard and retired to rest.  The orchard contains an olive tree and an apple tree and many weeds, along with the grass. The apples have all been disposed of (refrigerated - they keep well in the fridge) but from time to time I slice one and the sheep come and beg and I graciously give them a few bits, but not so much as to make them die which they're inclined to do for any number of arcane reasons, one of them being, I suspect, over-indulgence in apples.

Lo, glancing out of the window I saw that the sheep had teleported out of the orchard and were calmly grazing the lawn. On with wellies, and more gate-opening and gate-closing and sheep driving, and they were back in the orchard.

 Woe! Again, there they were on the lawn. 

Wellies again, and this time out with the little security camera which detects and photographs movement, theoretically all the burglars but actually the neighbour's cat.

And the mystery was solved.

So it appears I have invented a sheep valve.