I don’t like it when the sheep get out. If one of the goats gets out, no problem. Usually, they come find me. Because they got tired of waiting for somebody to bring them cookies and are clip-clopping up the porch steps to fetch a few for themselves. When sheep get out, they don’t want anything to do with you. They weren’t looking for you and they really don’t want to chat with you, either. Or go back home. After all, the grass is always greener somewhere else. They’d just as soon keep going, thanks. They’re really NOT ATTACHED TO YOU.
So when I discovered Jester and her two lambs strolling down the road yesterday, I armed myself with what weaponry I had at my disposal. Sweet feed.
Jester eyed me suspiciously. She was, after all, enjoying her sojourn, and not the least bit interested in my company.
“Let me show you my tantalizing bucket,” I said.
The sheer deliciousness was impossible to deny. Others, still inside the pasture, came to its siren call, following us from the other side of the fence.
Babies go wherever mama goes.
I continued to lure her, spellbound, on the track of my fantastical bucket.
We reached the magical portal to safety. I disarmed the high-tech security sealing its confines.
And then someone, I think it might have been Jack, because he wanted that bucket for himself, said, “Jester, you should go to Paris.”
I HAVE A BUCKET!!!!
She turned. There was hope again. Because what else am I going to do? Chase her down and tackle her? Lasso her? I don’t have a lasso.
She weighed her options. The world was hers! Freedom! She’d go to Paris, get an apartment overlooking the Seine. She’d sell her art on the streets. Her babies would collect coins from passersby. They’d live on love–
–or they could live on that BUCKET.
That’s right. You remember the BUCKET.
I opened the gate and tossed the sweet feed from the bucket on the ground. In you go.
Don’t worry, Jester. You’ll always have Paris.
IN YOUR DREAMS!!!
And then we repaired the break in the fence.