Monday, August 13, 2007

Houdini - Part 3

At long last, I cornered Houdini. We were about 20 yards apart, his black eyes staring into mine. His wool was tangled and matted, but he stood proudly, facing his foe. I do not know what I looked like, but I imagine that at that moment, the rocket ship on my chest gleamed.

It was then that I realized something.

I would like to say that it was some fundamental truth of the universe. Something about how sheep and boy were both equals in the eyes of nature and for that one brief moment, Houdini and I were brothers.

No, it was that Houdini probably outweighed my by a good 60-odd pounds and that even if I managed to somehow subdue him, I had no way of getting him back by myself.

Houdini then farted and wandered off. I kid you not.

Had I been older, I would have said something appropriate (like shit), but I just sighed and looked around. I then realized that I was roughly three-miles from where I had started the chase. The ridge I had chased Houdini down paralleled the main road. There were mileage markers at appropriate intervals and I could clearly see the surrounding terrain.

It took me an hour to pick my way back to where I had started. No one was there, of course, as they thought I was lost and were looking for me (I was not lost. I knew exactly where I was). I started walking home and after about fifteen minutes, the pickup roared up and my mom leapt out, to simultaneously hug and chew me out.

I related the story of chasing Houdini, which my dad found hilarious. We went home. My mom made me French Toast and dad called all the neighbors about our missing sheep.

Long story short. A neighbor noticed Houdini, walked up to him with a rope, collared him, led him into a pen, and then called my dad. He was back before noon.

A few months later, Houdini was sold at the county fair and became food. I have mixed feelings about Houdini. At the time, though I understood his desire for freedom, he did manage to be really irritating with the constant escape attempts. Now, looking back, I realize Houdini was a warrior, a woolly Viking if you will. Fate put him at the bottom of the food chain, but did not quench the fire in his heart.

Damn, I need to sell this to Mel Gibson. He could call it WoolHeart (SheepHeart?) and film it completely in baas and bleats.


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