All Wool (general readers)
Dec. 29th, 2011 11:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
my_b7_ficThis is an AR story written for AU100 (338 words)
Avon looked up from munching on the sweet new grass of spring. In his sheep brain, a vague recollection came to mind that the dog barking and the man shouting orders as he held the field gate open meant something. Beside him, Blake lowered his heavily horned head and pawed the grass aggressively.
Avon ran, following Blake, but it was no use. The man whistled and pointed and the dog, a lightning fast black and white blur, bit at Avon's haunches. As he and Blake had been sheared only the other day, the nipping frightened him. Finally he panicked and ran through the gate with the dog on his heels. The man slammed the gate shut in Blake's face.
Avon stuck his nose through the rails and baahed for a few minutes, trying to get back to Blake, before his nose picked up other scents. He turned and saw the flock. They were lovely, shorn and coquettish, flapping their tails and lifting their heads to catch his scent. Avon tried once more to get back to Blake, and then philosophically resigned himself to the ewes. They were nice, too.
The farmer leaned over the gate, watching as Avon mounted the first of the ewes and Blake made mournful bleats in the adjoining field. His son sat on the gate, watching them, also. "It's a pity about the big 'un bein' a queer 'un," the son said. "He's got the best fleece of the lot."
"Eh, things are the way they're made, son. Just as well, every time I tried turnin' him in with the flock, damned if he didn't find a way to break the fence and lead them all out into mischief. " The man whistled for the dog, and turned to go back to other work. "And the little one gets crazy if he's kept alone outside of breeding season."
The son nodded, remembering all the times they found the fool ram unconscious after running his head into fences and boulders. "Aye, sheep are funny creatures."
Avon looked up from munching on the sweet new grass of spring. In his sheep brain, a vague recollection came to mind that the dog barking and the man shouting orders as he held the field gate open meant something. Beside him, Blake lowered his heavily horned head and pawed the grass aggressively.
Avon ran, following Blake, but it was no use. The man whistled and pointed and the dog, a lightning fast black and white blur, bit at Avon's haunches. As he and Blake had been sheared only the other day, the nipping frightened him. Finally he panicked and ran through the gate with the dog on his heels. The man slammed the gate shut in Blake's face.
Avon stuck his nose through the rails and baahed for a few minutes, trying to get back to Blake, before his nose picked up other scents. He turned and saw the flock. They were lovely, shorn and coquettish, flapping their tails and lifting their heads to catch his scent. Avon tried once more to get back to Blake, and then philosophically resigned himself to the ewes. They were nice, too.
The farmer leaned over the gate, watching as Avon mounted the first of the ewes and Blake made mournful bleats in the adjoining field. His son sat on the gate, watching them, also. "It's a pity about the big 'un bein' a queer 'un," the son said. "He's got the best fleece of the lot."
"Eh, things are the way they're made, son. Just as well, every time I tried turnin' him in with the flock, damned if he didn't find a way to break the fence and lead them all out into mischief. " The man whistled for the dog, and turned to go back to other work. "And the little one gets crazy if he's kept alone outside of breeding season."
The son nodded, remembering all the times they found the fool ram unconscious after running his head into fences and boulders. "Aye, sheep are funny creatures."
