Flock

We stay together. It’s the way of sheep. We know what the humans say. They think we are stupid, that we all follow one mind, but this isn’t true. We sheep have discovered the power of numbers. We understand what it means to stand by each other. We are weak alone, but together we are strong.

There are no wolves on the farm, but we are always cautious. When the farmer feeds us we eat in a group, it is safer to hide in a mass than to be exposed. Our strongest and fastest are the ones who line the outside, they are more capable of fleeing and fighting. The elderly, young, and weak hide safe in the middle, a cloud of safety around them.

We have lived this way since the beginning of time. Long before farms, our ancestors before us lived this way, their ancestors before them, and so on. It is a perfect unit. Everyone is perfectly designed to fit together, it is how we survive.

Then Dirt came. Dirt was not like us, perhaps his mother met a wild ram in the fields one day. On the day of his birth, he came out of her as black as the soil beneath him. This became his name. We thought it might have been filth that covered him, or that the darkness of his fleece might fade in time, but it didn’t. Dirt was different from the rest of us. Differences are dangerous for sheep.

In a cloud of whiteness, it is hard to tell one sheep from another. Dirt broke through the whiteness. We quickly realized how dangerous it was to have him in the middle with the rest of the young. He made them easier to spot, a predator could target them first now. Dirt was quickly moved to the edge of the mass, it was safer for us all.

When the time to shear our wool came the farmer favored Dirt. He went first. The other sheep were fearful when they saw his wool sheared away though. The farmer was able to collect most of the dark wool, but he could not collect every strand. The other sheep fears the dark strands would stick to them if they went in. It would pepper their fur and make them stand out. Would they ever be able to remove all the dark wool?

 Some sheep made a fuss, we refused to follow after Dirt’s shearing. We belated and thrashed wildly in protest. The farmer finally resigned to the fact that he could not shear us that day. The next time he sheared us, Dirt went last.

Then the day came. We knew what happened to “difficult sheep” on the farm. The ones who refused to have wool sheared or caused trouble within the flock. The truck would come. A bright red front with a silver cage in the back. We didn’t know what they did with these sheep, we only knew they never returned.

The herd fell silent as the truck pulled in front of the farmhouse. The man inside got out and went to talk with the farmer. We stood in place, quaking. Who would he take this time? And why? We had all been good, we all fit perfectly, we all behaved well. Then all eyes fell on Dirt.

Of course, it was for him. Dirt stood at the back of our mass. As the others stopped quaking Dirt began to tremble more violently. Slowly, he too realized it was for him. The other sheep shook their heads. Poor Dirt.

It wasn’t long before the man returned from the farmhouse. The sea of sheep parted silently as the farmer made his way to the back. He reached down and stroked Dirt’s trembling head. That gesture of kindness only reaffirmed what we already knew to be true. Dirt was leaving, forever.

As the farmer started to lead him to the front Dirt suddenly came back to life. He began thrashing and bleating desperately. He didn’t want to be taken away. He didn't want to go. Some of the sheep looked on with pity in their eyes. Some turned their heads away, unable to bear the desperation they saw in his face. The farmer was much stronger than Dirt though, he called over one of his farm boys to help, and together they were easily able to lift Dirt and place him in the cage.

We watched as Dirt bleated desperately inside of the cage. The man with the truck went to talk more with the farmer. We gazed on at Dirt. Poor Dirt. The thought started as a murmur amongst the flock. Dirt didn’t deserve this, he didn’t do anything wrong. Then others started to speak up. Dirt always had his fleece shorn peacefully, he never threw a fit. Dirt was always quiet and docile when the flock was fed, he never caused trouble. The thoughts quickly became angry roars. Why would the farmer take Dirt? Dirt never caused any trouble! Dirt never did anything wrong! Dirt was just Dirt, he didn’t deserve to be taken for that!

The injustice of Dirt being taken angered us. The anger built and built until it finally exploded. Soon we were all bleating angrily, cursing the farmer for his unfairness. The farmer suddenly became aware of the loud chorus of bleating. He ran over to check on us. As soon as the gate opened we knew what we had to do. 

We rushed out past him, our large flock forcing our way through the small gate. He was so shocked he didn’t know what to do. We raced toward the truck. We jumped against it, trying to free Dirt. He bleated to us desperately as we tried. Finally, one of us knocked the door loose.

We swarmed in, surrounding Dirt. We created a tight mass around him in the cramped cage. The weakest are always in the middle, that was where we kept Dirt. The farmer came to his senses and tried to lead us out. The outer sheep bleated angrily and snapped at him as he tried. After a few moments, he realized it wasn’t going to work. He backed away. 

We walked as a unit. The outer sheep kept eyes on the farmer and the man with the truck, the inner sheep kept a close eye on Dirt. We slowly led him back to our pen. Once safely inside we did not disband. We stayed that way, staring at the farmer. Our cloud of safety, with Dirt in the middle. Dirt was a good sheep. More than that, Dirt was a sheep. 

We stay together. It’s the way of sheep.