Odd One Out Sheep

Nine sheep in the race. Eight with blue marks. One with none.

Odd one out, said Spike. Maths can be finding what does not match.

Suzy scanned left to right. Soft eye. No panic sprint.

There — the third from the gate. Clean fleece where blue should be.

Eight same. One different. Nine total. The odd one still counts in the flock.

Woolworth looked smug about being ordinary. The unmarked one looked relieved to be noticed kindly.

Spike’s explorer gear feeling helped him look twice. Looking is not magic sight.

Farm sorting keeps care honest: who needs a mark, who needs shade, who needs space.

At home: find the sock that does not match. That is odd-one-out maths.

They marked the odd sheep gently and opened the race. Numbers served kindness.

Find the odd. Count the all.