From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Uncle Harold is still in New York. I never think of him except when a letter arrives. The letters are always for Grandmother, never for Grandfather. When Grandfather sees one, he just says, “Well how is the schaf?” A schaf, is a German sheep but not a very smart one.
It’s good to know that Harold remains far away. Hilda defines “schaf” very well. Google Translate suggests: sheep, dope, and twit.