A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Once upon a time, in a land not-so-far-away, a flock of sheep, descended from a long line of contented sheep, grazed happily upon tasty green fields of nourishing grasses and clover. Just as their flock, and the flock that came before them, and the ones before those had done year after year.

All the sheep grew fat and happy. Well- almost all of them. In fact, every one but Ronald was happy. Ronald was an angry unhappy sheep.

Oh, he had good reason to be unhappy. His parents had always had their hairs wound a little too tight... their hoofs a little too pointy...their flanks a little too bony. Ronald seemed to have inherited all of their quirks and petulance, and added his own special scowl.

But, most of all: Ronald was discontented. In a flock of happy, frolicking, gamboling sheep Ronald was just, well there is no good way to say it; Ronald was a cranky mean grump of a sheep.

He didn't want to spend his life in that sunny vale amid the creamy tops of gentle rolling hills bordered by stone outcroppings overlooking steep crevasses edged with violets and lilies of the valley. It was secure. It was safe. He wanted something BIGGER, something EDGIER, something MORE.

In fact, what Ronald really wanted was to be a Wolf.

Ah; wolves. They were lean and smart. Crafty and cruel. Scheming and driven. YES! That was exactly how Ronald saw himself: the biggest baddest wolf that ever was. If he squinted at his reflection in the quiet drinking pool, and turned his head just-so, he could see that he sort of looked like a wolf. if the sun was just right, and the wind blew just so; Ronald's softly curling fleece looked exactly-sort-of like a grey wolf skin.

Ronald could see it, and he just knew that someday everyone else would, too. Days passed, seasons did too, but very little changed amid the fields where the flock thrived (except for Ronald). It was just one happy sunny day after another.

Ronald was miserable.

Until one fateful morning, as Ronald ducked behind a rocky outcropping at the far Western corner of the fields; he came nose to tail with the biggest wolf he had ever seen. The big wolf was wedged into the crevice in the rock with his back to Ronald.

"Excuse me," whispered Ronald, groaning inside his head at the pitiful sound of his voice. He tried again: "Excuse me, sir!" he said louder.

The wolf didn't move. "Sir!" stated Ronald more sharply, as he didn't have the sense to be respectful toward what he assumed to be a deaf wolf. Still nothing.

Ronald backed away and then trotter around to the front of the outcropping, so that the deaf wolf could see his face and perhaps hear him better.

But that wolf would never hear Ronald, or anyone else, ever again. That wolf was, simply, clearly, forever: quite dead. He must have fallen somehow, and become jammed between the rocks, there to die all alone.

Ronald was not one to mourn a lone wolf, no indeed- Ronald was not one to look a gift wolf in the mouth! He knew that the time had come to be all the wolf a sheep could possibly be! He just needed a little time to prepare...

Puish, grunting, straining, and kicking, Ronald did true physical work for the first time in his life and created a screen of branches that look almost natural as long as you didn't look too hard, and hid away the body of the poor dead wolf. Then he meandered casually back to the flock to perfect his plans.

The next morning Ronald made his way through the flock nibbling a little here, then a little there as he mentioned the large grey wolf he had spotted the day before.

"Oh! It was terribly fierce! All teeth and ears, and legs, and claws! He looked like the very fiercest and wisest wolf that ever was!" and "He looked me straight in the eye and I knew he could tell what I was thinking!" and "He was terrible and just all at the same time. It was as clear and the curl in your hair!"

By noon all the meadow, all of the hillocks and ditches, the hedgerows and tufts were a buzz with wonderment and caution about the great and powerful wolf that had appeared to Ronald.

While he puffed out his spindly chest with satisfaction, Ronald slipped away, back to that impromptu screen and the grey wolf. Wiggling behind the branches he used that sharp point on his hoof that he had inherited from his sire, and that long evil tooth that he'd gotten from his dam to work the skin right off that dead wolf.

Carefully- oh so carefully! he slooooowly peeled the loose skin from the poor shrunken body of the starved wolf. Puffing with pride and exhaustion he looked at the puddled pelt on the ground once he had finished with pleasure.

"I love it when a plan comes together!" he exalted. He could still hear the murmured bleats and baaas of the flock as they speculated who would be the next to see the wolf, and chuckled to himself because he alone knew the answer.

Taking a deep breath, Ronald shimmied his head under the sticky chest of the wolf skin and pushed until he had his head right under the gaping mouth, sharp teeth, and lolling tongue of the wolf. He shrugged his shoulders and settled the body of the wolf over his pointing haunches, and felt the four paws drop to the ground as they neatly covered his hooves.

Covered completely with the cold and clammy skin, Ronald stood stock still and took it all in. The sharp coppery smell of the blood was overpowering and, frankly: intoxicating. Ronald wasn't simply playing the wolf, Ronald knew that he WAS the Wolf, the One True Wolf called to cull the weak from the flock and lead those that shared his vision to even greater things as the did his every bidding.

He shook his head from side to side, feeling the skin settling into his matted fleece. Then slowly, ever-so-slowly, Ronald made his way through the pile of branches and sticks and purposefully moved toward the knots of sheep in the field.

Although it was difficult to see through the shaggy neck of the wolf he could tell when the ewes caught sight of him by the way their murmurs quieted. Proudly he lifted his head and swayed his tail to walk even more majestically and the scent of the violets and lilies filled the air as his pointy hooves pierced them with each deliberate step.

"They must be awestruck," he thought to himself. "They've never seen anything so fine, so regal, so powerful, so capable, so.." and Ronald's thoughts abruptly stopped as he was pushed over the nearest rocky outcropping and fell down deep into the crevasse by the wave of ewes and rams that moved as one to rid the meadows of the Big Bad Wolf, never to be seen again.

The moral of the story:

Sheep may not always be the brightest or the strongest, but never underestimate their strength when they work together.

or

Every Big Bad Wolf will eventually get what's coming for him-even if he is really nothing but a deluded sheep with delusions of grandeur wrapped in a wolf's clothing.