The Dead Sheep

I came home from the city to find a dead sheep on my doorstep. I might have fallen over it, if the porch light hadn’t come on as I walked up the drive and illuminated its bedraggled form. It might have been sleeping, but for the fact that it was dead. I looked at it. It looked at nothing; its tongue protruding from the side of its mouth.

It was, on the whole, not what I had expected to come home to after a heavy night out. But there it was, and it wasn’t going to go anywhere of its own accord. 

My head suggested that perhaps it wasn’t proper to have a dead sheep on your doorstep in Pennyacre Drive. Was there, perhaps even a law against it? It seemed quite plausible to my alcohol-muddled brain. 

I groggily pondered on the situation. I could hardly drag the thing into the house; it would make a terrible mess on the cream carpet. But I didn’t want to leave it on the doorstep either; to embarrassingly reveal itself to the postman, and the world, in the morning. 

There was only one thing for it, I decided. I found my way to the shed and, using the torch on my phone, located a spade. 

It took three hours to dig a hole in the front garden that was big enough and by the time I'd finished, the first glimmers of dawn were lighting the corners of the sky. As discreetly as I could, I dragged the animal’s dead weight from the porch across to the garden and into the hole, pulling the soil back over to create a new hillock in my previously flat rose bed. 

I looked down then at my mud-encrusted suit and brogues, reflecting, now that I’d sobered up a bit, that I probably should have changed into something more suitable for grave digging. It was 4:00am, I was exhausted, mostly sober, and angry with myself and the world.

I didn’t even bother to shower before I collapsed into bed.

I was still groggy when the phone rang at 7:00am. 

“Hello?”

"Mornin. Did you gerrit?"

"Sorry?" 

"Did you ger yer sheep?"

"Sorry?"

"Yer sheep! Don’t tell me some bastard ad off with it? I left it on yer doorstep.”

“Well, yes, there was a sheep on my doorstep, but why would you leave a sheep on my doorstep?”

“Is what you ordered.”

“What?” But even as the word left my mouth, a light flicked on in my brain.

“In the pub, t’other night. I said do you wanna buy half a lamb? And you said, I’ll take a whole one.”

My growing awareness gave me a kick then; a hard one. 

“But I thought it would be in pieces”, I wailed.

"Oh, yer should have said. S’extra if you wannit butchered."

Rod Webb
Jul 18 2020

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Comments:

I can't resist chuckling either!

Paul Sterlini
Jul 23 2020

Hilarious, loved it.

Tony Spencer
Jul 19 2020