So here I am again, re-telling the story I’ve told a thousand times, to a thousand people, just like you. It may come as a surprise to you, but contrary to popular belief, sheep aren’t performing monkeys! Although, some perform I think, but that’s not the point. Now go away and leave me alone!
I said leave me alone! Stop reading!I said leave me alone! Stop reading!
You really are insistent aren’t you. Fine, I’ll tell you my story. However, you are a lot older than my usual reader. Tell you what, this time I’ll tell the truth!
It all started when I woke up feeling a little chillier than usual. I didn’t think much of it at the time; it was only just coming into Spring after all. Anyway, I went about my usual business, you know, sheep stuff. That was when I began to grow suspicious, the pigs where laughing at me.
One of them said “Oi you” he laughed so hard he snorted like..well like a pig I suppose.. “get back inside or I’ll book you for indecent exposure”.
My ass was hanging out! Ha, get it? Farm humour…no?
Moving swiftly on, it later turned out that my idiot farmer had sheared me in my sleep! The bastard sold my wool to ‘The Master’. What kind of a name is that? I mean, it’s a bit presumptuous isn’t it? Sheep don’t just bow down to others you know, we don’t just follow the crowd, that’s for you lot to do. Who cares if one of the cows had a boob job, doesn’t mean I’ll get one. So, as I was saying, I wasn’t too mad, a farmer who feeds and shelters his sheep is welcome to a bit of wool from him. I just wish he hadn’t taken it all from one place…
That night, I went to sleep covering my backside with a bale of hay I had shuffled into. I seem to remember it being quite comfy, a little itchy though. But I digress, I woke in the morning feeling even colder than last night. I bleated in disbelief and in sorrow; you’d be surprised how many emotions you can fit into one ‘bhaa’. My whole back had been shaved in the night! At the time I wished I wasn’t such a heavy sleeper but now, with all manner of children and a few slightly odd adults reading me constantly, I’m not so sure I would do well as a light sleeper.
Obviously now I know who bought my second lot of stolen wool; as do all those damn ‘re-readers’ when I tell them incidentally. I hate re-readers, why do they have to waste my time, why should I have to repeat myself? That’s what’s wrong with today’s world, nobody cares about other people, just themsel…oh sorry, I do that sometimes. You’ll have to excuse me I am a couple hundred years old you know. Either way, it was that bitch, ‘The Dame’! It never ceases to amaze me that these stupid criminal masterminds use titles instead of names, imbeciles. I don’t call myself ‘The Sheep’ do I? No. Yes, yes I know it should have been rhetorical but this is my story so I can use or not use any literary devices I want.
As you can probably tell, I was pretty mad. I was on the verge of a breakdown at the time; I wouldn’t leave the stable for anything. Then I thought to myself, the farmer does have a family to feed, I guess he just needed some extra money this season. I let him off! That, was the worst mistake I have made in my entire life; I’ll get to why later. So I slept again, honestly believing that the worst was over.
I woke in the middle of the night, yawning intensely. That’s when I heard him, ’ The Little Boy Who Lives Down The Lane’. He had stolen the last of my wool! You see, he’d heard of my lovely wool from his pal, ‘The Dame’ and, like any respectable evil genius would, he decided to get some for himself. This time however, the farmer wasn’t involved, ‘The Boy’ had decided he wasn’t going to pay, and had taken my wool himself.
I crept out of the stable and saw him creeping through the bushes towards the lane, that sly fox thought he could get away with it that easily! I prepared myself to charge; trying to imagine that the farmer’s dog was behind me, and there was a nice patch of green grass where ‘The Boy’ was, I began to run.
I screamed the most evil, vicious war cry I could imagine “Bha!”