watch out for the gramma(r) llama
it wants to bite off your ding dong
What do you do when you encounter sheep?
I once helped a stray ewe back into her stall.
We were at Ross Farm - one of those jazzy little historical reenactment farms with coopers and a stone mill and oxen and the like.
Hippie shit.
The ewe had slipped from her pen and was in great distress. I wanted to help.
To do this? I found the opening then made the ewe experience even more distress by running around and waving my hands and shouting. I would have put on Paranoid by Black Sabbath but I didn’t have a ghetto blaster.
She bucked and bolted, ran and bleated until finally she found the hole and was safe with her flock.
Then, I closed the door behind her.
That was satisfying.
Sheep are very satisfying.
This wasn’t my only encounter with sheep.
No, it’s not what you think.
I’ve never been a lonely Scotsman, slipping the sheep’s back legs into my wellies to keep them still and vulnerable.
I’ve never been to Scotland you dirty perverts.
I just really like sheep.
Not like a Scot likes sheep though.
With me it’s strictly a platonic relationship.
I think of sheep as ‘friends’.
Whenever I see them I try to speak with them.
I bleat. I baa. And I mwaaaaa as loudly as I can
Sheep are funny animals. Unlike my dogs who stare blankly at me when I bark at them, or my cats who ignore me when I meow, the sheep seem to respond. Even if the sheep know that I’m not quite speaking their language perfectly, they admire my efforts. They reply.
On the 24 hour ride, climbing out of the Gaspereau Valley, I spotted a big, noisy, beautiful flock of sheep. Though they were lying still or merely grazing, they were a vocal bunch.
By this point dear reader, I’m certain that you know what happened next.
That’s right, I began to imitate their sounds.
I mwaaa’d and blaaaa’d, bleated and baaa’d.
When I did? They became even more animated.
It was so much fun!
They were diggin me, I was diggin them - or at least so I thought.
As I reflect on the experience I may not have been doing as well as I thought.
I mean, I’m not fluent in ‘sheep’. I’m just making sounds like a sheep in order to fit in with the wooly little fuckers.
Either way, I must have said or done SOMETHING wrong because the next thing I know there’s this big fucking angry llama. It’s running straight at me like some kind of fuzzy bouncer language police ready to kick my ass.
Have you ever seen an angry llama?
Did I screw up the sheep’s pronouns?
That would make the angry llama a grammar lama.
And that gramma llama looked like it was ready to bite off my ding dong.
No shit - a grama llama ding dong.
And if that doesn’t strike terror in your heart dear reader, I don’t know what could.
Luckily the aggressive guard llama had its progress stopped by an electric fence otherwise I may not have lived to tell this tale.
That llama was fierce.
My take away?
I’m going to continue to love sheep. I’ll try to speak with them in a language that they understand.
But if they’re the kind of sheep that hang out with aggressive llamas?
I’m having mutton stew for dinner.
Stay weird - with GUSTO you fools.
PS: Here’s a song about some Scots who don’t believe in keeping things platonic with sheep:
“sheep sheep everywhere, the wooly little fuckers are over the place, they’re fighting for the one with the prettiest face”
You’re welcome.