Calmly explained Dr Blue, the finer intricacies of the sheep-selection process are best left to the mind of an intellectual. However I will try.
Yep, for that, we look to sunset in Wales...
Mid-November, at dusk, as the first dew settles on the very richest, greenest blades of grass, the wind whips through an empty valley. Now I
reveal that the Welsh secret of poor weather is actually an ancient shrine to the art of sheep worship; photons are displaced, angels sing. An undulating motion has begun, and through the natural process of light refraction from the blue moon, and the echoes of the empty mines, an image is displayed on a craggy rock wall.
A Welshman will study said image, sometimes for days, deciphering the holy message. Many tears will be shed, his family will fear for him, such concentration is rarely seen elsewhere in the world. After a while, he gives up, heads to the pub, drinks some Brains and finds the first fluffy b@stard he can get his hands on. Gender doesn't really matter over here.
Hope that has clarified a few things.
Oh, bonus points if anyone can spot a secret mesage.