I’m going through withdrawal. Sheep withdrawal. Not sleep withdrawal; sheep withdrawal. You read that correctly. Now, before you leave this post in total disgust thinking I’m some twisted pervert let me explain.
Several miles from my home is a farm. For at least the last 6 years there has lived on this farm a flock of sheep. Lovely sheep with wooly creamy-colored fleece and precious black faces. I would routinely drive by the farm and shout out a hello to my “ladies,” the sheep. Every few years the sheep would have lambs and I would make extra trips down this street just to gaze in wonder and ewe, I mean awe, at the adorable little black-faced sheepettes.
Over the past 2 or 3 weeks the sheep have gradually disappeared. Day after day I drive down this road on the pretense of running an errand but actually just to get my flock fix and the fields are empty. Sheepless. One day early on I noticed they were hanging out by the side of the barn towards the back of the farmer’s property. I watched them amble on down one of the fields until they were out of sight – presumably landing in a back pasture. But that was weeks ago. By now the sheep surely have gobbled up all the possible grass in the back fields. Recently I saw someone on a tractor actually mowing one of the front fields. Wait a minute, isn’t that the responsibility of the sheep? Not that they can use machinery, mind you. In fact, my friend from church, Terri Ann, maintains that sheep are some of the dumbest creatures on the face of the earth and have been known to simply fall over from stupidity. But I digress.
Where are my sheep? I need my sheep. Please God they’re not in Kroger hermetically sealed in Saran Wrap.