Sheep Stories: A Lion’s Roar

Sheep Stories: A Lion’s Roar ALVIN BRIAN S. LEGARIO

“The dew soaked, green grass is truly a silent blessing, innih?” Preston murmured as he happily snacked on the juicy grass. His short curly wool of grey bounced happily to the rhythm of his munch.

“That it is, bruv. That it is,” Humpdy supplemented.

“Even the new lads are having a good go at it,” Preston said, pointing his nose at the newly arrived sheep venturing out into the pasture.

“Haaaaa. What did we ever do to des-”

Just before Humpdy could finish his words, the long and stout, brown wooled sheep was interrupted by a deafening roar. A lion, almost the size of a destrier, appeared suddenly out of thin air in the vast expanse of their pasture. The beast was a magnificent ripple of yellows and browns from nose to tail. He had a long, black, thick main that went all the way down to his chest to compliment his already massive stature. His claws, twirled and twisted, were as sharp as daggers—his fangs, even sharper.

“Bloody hell, mate. There he is again,” Humpdy croaked, as he continued grazing on grass, unfazed by the sudden appearance of the lion on the hill. “Somebody should tell that pussy to bugger off, eh?” Humpdy sneered. “OY MATE,” he bellowed.

If the lion didn’t notice him then, he had his undivided attention now. He looked upon him with yellow eyes filled with malice. He gave another bellowing roar and looking as though he was poised to pounce.

“BUGGER OFF, EH?” Humpdy shouted, forming a stance of his own, albeit awkwardly. “NOT EVEN ON YOUR BEST DAY COULD YOU TAKE ME ON, BRUV.”

“Leave ‘em be, bruv,” Preston urged, his grazing uninterrupted.

“Most of us, well the lot of us who’s been here for more than two moons at least, know that the sorry excuse of fur and fangs has not the strength to muster a bite equal to his bark.”

“But mate, he scared off the new lads,” Humpdy said, turning around to face his grey friend.

“Be that as it may, those lot are still greener than the grass in these pastures,” Preston urged. “Now leave the cat be, fam. As for the new sheep, they’ll learn eventually that there’s nothing to fret about.”

“Yes, but the threat is looming still,” Humpdy whined.

“Are you sure about that?” Preston inquired.

“Aye.”

“Look behind you mate.”

The brown sheep, confused, peered at his back. “He’s gone. You were right,” Preston said, dumbfounded.

“Things aren’t the way they were a hundred moons ago,” the grey sheep muttered, his mouth unbroken from the ground.

“The threat of him pouncing one of these days is still great though,” Humpdy said.

“Yes. And when he does, we will still run to the barn—to the farmer even, if we can. But out of defense and not fear, bruv. Within our flock, there are those who are willing to fight tooth and hoof to keep the rest of the lot safe,” Preston said assuringly.

“He’ll keep harassing the herd every now and then with his bellowing roars though,” Humpdy insisted.

“Be that as it may, the times have changed,” Preston urged. “The opinions of sheep weigh heavier than a lion’s roar nowadays,” Humpdy realized, as the new sheep began to graze on the field once again.

PHOTO BY KEILAH N. BALDOMAR