Long off-topic, um yarn follows. Use your discretion.
Twenty-odd years ago I needed a lawn mower and bethought me of a sheep as a cheap means of both reducing the height of the grass and raising a crop of mushrooms.
Soon thereafter enter a newly-weaned, black, Perendale, soon-to-be-a-wether lamb, duly named Mince Sauce by mine own good self. A mere whimsy of course. Mint Sauce beat out Roast as the lamb's moniker by a nose and two spare testicles wether he liked it or not.
It transpired that Mint Sauce was not quite as weaned as the cockie who sold him to me for the princely sum of $5 had claimed. He did poorly for the first day or so, but brightened up when I took some milk out in a bottle with a baby's teat on it. He chewed the teat to bits but got the milk down him like there was no tomorrow. So there followed a quick trip to the local stock and station agent's for some lamb milk mixture. As a result, me being the waste-not-want-not type, Mint Sauce was not officially completely weaned for damned near six months, which was when the powdered milk finally ran out. He was fed out of a large beer bottle, initially topped with a lamb teat.
Anyway, from then on out any large bottle was, as far as Mint Sauce was concerned, his. He didn't need the teat after a while, he could swig it down straight out the bottle with the best of 'em. Friends used to feed him beer when we were having a couple on the back lawn. This might sound cruel but he loved it and bellowed for more as he staggered around from the effects. Have you ever seen a four-footed animal trying to coordinate all those legs when it's four sheets to the wind? Elephants will walk 60 miles to eat fermented bananas. Mint Sauce walked as far as the fridge, so to speak.
He grew to a rather overlarge size. He was fat. He could just walk away from a two-inch trace chain, although a 2.5-incher usually took him a week to snap. He escaped on numerous occasions. His best-remembered escapist exploit occured when he got into a neighbour's market garden and topped 150 cabbage plants in one night.
Once when we went on holiday he escaped the day after we left. He didn't go far, but none of our neighbours was game to try to catch him. He was a b-i-i-i-i-g muvver. And don't believe what they tell you about sheep being stupid; they are when they're in flocks, but they're bright enough on their own. When we got back, we had to tease and tempt him into a corner of the section so that I could put a loop of trace chain around his neck and drag him back to his stake. The corner we bailed him up in was at the top of a very steep slope. We finally got within grabbing distance and so Sandra (who many of you will know as SWMBO) grabbed. In fact, she leapt on top of him and wrapped her arms around his neck, shouting "I've got him, I've got him!", although the shouts grew rapidly fainter as both she and her gallant steed, Mint Sauce, disappeared down the hill, Sandra's legs flailing about in mid-air while she hung on to his neck like grim death. She at least had the sense to let go before he made it to the road.
She was not impressed with either my mirth (I was laughing helplessly, holding my sides and with tears streaming down my face) or my lack of sympathy. She was even less impressed when I simply walked up to that damned sheep after I'd recovered and put the chain around his neck and attached the other end to the stake without a murmur of protest or the slightest hint of an escape attempt. He was, of course, completely knackered for the second time in his life.
He went to a retirement farm for retired pet lambs shortly thereafter. I didn't inquire if they laid on booze for their guests. It didn't seem the kind of question which would be very helpful, really...
