These green Welsh hills are peaceful and beautiful. We sheep wander around in groups eating the grass and when the time comes, having sex or being shorn of our wool. The shearing is like a carnival. We are all gathered together for the annual haircut. And afterwards we all chuckle at each other’s appearance, totally ignoring the fact that we ourselves look just the same.
The humans let us pasture on their land and in return, we give them our wool. Not sure what they do with it or why they want it, but the trade seems fair.
Well, as I say, this is all very bucolic, but there are other humans who want to get access and enjoy the beauty too, and they have these noisy lumps of metal that they call cars. The cars need things called road, long black ribbons stretched across and over the hills. Mostly the cars move relatively slowly and try to avoid hitting anything, but just occasionally, one comes along driving so fast there is no time to get out of the way.
Now, these hillsides are supposed to be ours, so when we wander, as we do, over these black ribbons, we expect to have right of way. It’s when one of these “Boy racers” I think they call them, comes by that accidents happen.
Well, it was two weeks ago, I was ambling across a black ribbon when one of these metal lumps comes thundering around a hump in the hills and hits me. I still feel the bruises. Not sure I’ll ever fully recover. Anyway, I get hit. I was stunned, knocked out. Next thing I know I am being bounced around in this metal box. I don’t mind admitting, I panicked. You would too!
I shit myself in there, Pissed myself too. I tried to escape. Kicked at the box to try to get out. Nothing worked. The metal bent but didn’t break.
Then suddenly everything went quiet, and after a few moments, the box was opened and staring down at me were four humans. I didn’t wait. Didn’t look back. I bounded out of there and went for the nearest field.
I soon found other sheep there, but they weren’t from my flock. Their leader was summoned and came over. I told him my story. He didn’t believe it, but said I could stay anyway, at least until I found my own flock. We agreed we would probably be able to sort it all out at the next sheep shearing carnival and I could stay until then.
Now, it was only yesterday I heard the rest of the story. Apparently when everything went quiet, it was because the car boot I was in, yes that was the box prison I had been trapped in, was part of a car that had stopped. Apparently in the car park of the Jolly Sailor. That’s what they call a ‘pub’. Humans like those. No-one seems to know why, but it is a place they flock together.
After I had escaped, the humans in the car were shocked at the mess I had left. Not my fault, they were the ones who had put me in there. The piss, the shit, the dents from all my kicking.
Apparently they were seen just staring at it for quite a while and then went into a huddle, probably wondering what had happened. Well I’m glad. Payback for the trauma they put me through!
After a while they just left the car and went into the ‘pub’. Maybe the ‘pub’ is a place for resolving problems, I don’t really know.
Well, I was the least of their problems. After a while they came out again to find that a lorry (thats a very big car by the way) had driven into their car and totally crushed it. The lorry had done to their car what they nearly did to me. More payback.
Anyway, now here I am stuck with this alien flock, so I have a place to live, but is it really home?
