“Mutilating sheep carcases for Father Christmas,” he said with slight hint of an Australian accent.

“Wow,” Dr. Vij said in honest surprise, “When I asked about your earliest memory I did not expect that.”

“Oh, I would’ve thought you’d be ready for anything, being a psychiatrist and all.”

“Well, actually I am a gynecologist. I just sort of fell into this therapy thing, but that’s another story.”

“Wouldn’t mind hearing that one.”

“No, no. I have learned that this hour should be about you. Was this memory at Christmas time?”

“Well, yeah, but only by coincidence. It wasn’t the real Father Christmas, o’ course.”

“Of course,” nodded Dr. Vij, “I don’t believe he has sheep. Reindeer, isn’t it?”

“Kangaroos.”

“I have been grossly misinformed about your Christian holidays, I am afraid.”

“That’s alright. Anyway, it was just a guy we called Father Christmas…”

“Because of a white beard and jolly belly, I suppose.”

“Nah, he tended to get a barmaid pregnant each year round the holidays.”

“So, the sheep?”