Born to Jincie, a ewe known for being a poor mama, he came into the world small and fragile, on a cold night that called for extra care. I brought them into the barn and checked on them through the night—each time finding him still holding on. By morning, I found him slipped under the gate, lying flat and still. I truly thought he was gone. But when I picked him up, there was breath. A little milk, a little warmth, and a lot of hope brought him back. He stayed flat for days after—earning the name Flat Stanley without question. What an ironic twist, from the runt to the biggest sheep in the flock.