A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Chapter 1

Timothy Sheep stood sulking in the Mid-Meadow on his favorite little hill, chewing on the same old grass as always. Overhead a few billowy clouds floated in a bright sunny sky. It was comfortably warm and the lush green grass was sweet. He could hear bees (or were they flies?) buzzing softly somewhere below him in the flowers. Everything was just as it always was, and Timothy was totally bored as usual. Another noise intruded. He turned to look.

Johnny came gamboling along the path below, lost in his own imaginings. Johnny and Timothy were best friends, kind of. Johnny's the most timid sheep I know, Timothy thought feeling sorry for him. Johnny was taller and thinner. ...which makes my own short stocky body look a little plump. I hate looking plump.

Oh, lambskin, Timothy whispered to himself. I hope he isn’t too whiny today. Sometimes, Johnny really annoys me with his bleating heart and lamby-ness.

In the middle of a hoppity-skip, Johnny noticed Timothy watching, he came trotting over. Hi, Timmy, he bleated. What are you doing up here?

Johnny! I hate it when you call me Timmy, Timothy complained. I’m not a lamb anymore. I’m almost two. Sighing, he went on. I come up here all the time. This is the best way to keep track of what's happening in the Flock. Why, from here, I can see all the way across the Meadows and watch everything. I always know what's going on when I'm up here. Not that there is much to see.

Want to play?

I don’t know, Johnny. I’m kind of busy. Timothy tried to act indifferent and cool.

Johnny looked like he didn't believe him. So, what are you doing then?

Counting sheep. Johnny is so easy to fool, he thought. He falls for everything I tell him.

You’re kidding. Right?

Timothy shrugged.

Johnny stood there for a bit, unsure of what to say. Timothy ignored him and took another bite of grass like it was serious business.

After leaning on first one leg then the other a while, Johnny finally asked, Doesn’t that make you sleepy?

Timothy groaned, but answered, Not me. I can count for hours.

Again Johnny stood there for a time looking thoughtful before he said, So…how many are there?

Luckily some movement caught Timothy’s eye and spared him from answering. He made a big show of turning to look. Johnny followed his gaze. A line of sheep came walking up into the meadow from the lower end.

Hmmph, Timothy said. Those are easy to count. I bet they’re Orthodox sheep, finally working their way up from the Low Meadows. They’re so afraid of change that they always wait till they are forced to move. His tone was critical.

Johnny just nodded trying to be agreeable in spite of Timothy’s surly mood.

Yep. They’ll only move up when all the grass is gone and not a moment before. Hmmph, he said again. His parents said Hmmph a lot and, when he said it, it made him feel superior. You know, it’s a wonder my mom and dad aren’t down there with them. It’s a wonder they aren’t Orthodox sheep too, like Old Wilbur.

Johnny looked uncomfortable. What’s wrong with Orthodox sheep?

What do you think? They never stop bleating about the kindness and generosity of the Shepherd. Always telling everyone what the Shepherd says you can’t do. And… he pointed to the line of sheep again, They’re always the last to leave the Low Meadows. Why, they're the most stodgy and old fashioned of all the sheep in the Flock. And my parents are a lot like them, boring and stuffy, and way too strict. Can’t do this and can’t do that.

But someone has to tell you what’s right and what to do... Johnny began in defense.

The whole Flock is far too strait-laced, Timothy interrupted decidedly. They’re always worried about what the Shepherd thinks, and saying how good he is. How often do you even notice the Shepherd anyway? I’ve only ever seen him from a distance. It’s not like he’s in-your-face, or something. He leaves you alone almost all the time, even when you bleat for him. He’s not the one who chews you out for pulling on the baby lambs' tails. No. It’s always my parents, or an Orthodox sheep.

Timothy had a sudden thought. He rushed on, I’ll bet the Shepherd doesn’t even care about the little things we do, right or wrong. He probably just cares about the big bad things. Yeah, that’s it, he reasoned, just the really big bad things. Although Timothy couldn’t imagine what anyone here in the Flock could do, that would be really big, or bad, enough for the Shepherd to become angry. Why, I've never even heard of the Shepherd getting annoyed, although my folks and the older sheep always seem to be irritated about something.

You shouldn’t talk that way, Timothy. Johnny warned.

Why not? Timothy snapped at his friend.

Well, Johnny was unsure. Well, one of them might hear you.

But Timothy was on a roll. So what? I’m not worried about what they think. I’m a two-ager and I'm wild and free.

But… the Shepherd…, Johnny stuttered.

The Shepherd keeps everything safe here, but then, he only leads us where it’s safe in the first place. Safe and boring. Especially boring for a rambunctious young ram like me, he asserted. Timothy liked using big words when he could. I want to be able to do as I please, with no one to boss me around. I want to be a ram's ram. Following the Shepherd is too restrictive, he pronounced as he finished up. He took another bite of grass and chewed it thoughtfully watching the meadows around him.

You don't know everything, you know, Johnny was defensive.

Ha! I know everything I need to know about the Meadows. The Meadows are a series of grassy clearings that stretch out in each direction for a long ways and here, in the Mid-Meadows, we're probably half-way up the Mountain. Timothy wasn’t sure how many Meadows there were or if they were really half-way up the Mountain, but Johnny didn't know either so he couldn't call him a liar. Thinking about the Mountain, he gazed up at it.

See up there Johnny? He pointed. There, above the Upper Meadows? That is where the Outside World begins and it's mysterious and exotic, he said longingly. I’d sure like to go up there and explore. That would be wonderful, he sighed, except for the wolves.

I hate the wolves, Timmy, Johnny complained, the whites of his eyes showing slightly. They scare me. And anyway, the adult sheep don’t like us talking about them.

Ha! Timothy scoffed. Those old muttons are always talking in hushed bleats about the wolves, especially Old Wilbur. Why, listening to Old Wilbur, you’d think he knows everything a wolf has ever done in the Meadows going back almost forever. The wolves this and the wolves that. The adults are usually careful not to talk where any of us younger sheep might hear, but I’ve eavesdropped on their moaning about the wolves often enough. To hear them talk, the wolves are responsible for everything bad that has ever happened.

I don’t know…Maybe they are, Johnny sounded doubtful and uncertain about Timothy’s whole conversation."

Come on, Johnny. Every time a sheep turns up missing, someone always claims they've strayed. Johnny blanched at the sound of the forbidden word.

Pleased to see he had shocked Johnny, Timothy went on, Yeah strayed, and then got themselves devoured by the wolves. Timothy shivered a little in spite of himself at that thought, however much he claimed that he doubted it.

Well, the wolves are scary, Timmy. And how do we know that missing sheep don't end up in a wolf’s tummy somewhere?

Oh, I’m too old for bogey-wolves, he told Johnny confidently. Why, I’ve even seen real wolves before lots of times... uh, well once anyway, from a distance, he corrected quickly at Johnny's look, afraid he'd stretched the truth too far. He returned closer to the truth, Yeah. I saw them way over on a ridge, on the far side of the Upper-Meadows. Timothy smiled enjoying his own bragging. Yeah, they were scary, but even from so far away I could see they weren’t mean, or anything, to each other. he mused. I mean, I guess they're just mean to sheep.

After a quiet pause he said, Why couldn’t I be tough like a wolf? If I was a wolf, I wouldn’t have to be afraid of anything. As he tried to imagine what that would feel like, he saw two other young sheep coming their way.

Uh oh, here come Buster and Gainer. They're only a month or two older than us, but they're sure bigger than we are, he huffed to Johnny. I’m sure they’re headed over here to pick on me, I mean us, some more. Why don’t those bullies leave us alone? No matter what he said, Timothy was convinced Buster and Gainer liked to single him out the most.

Wool-pulling bully rams. It's hard enough having to start off a little small as a lamb, Timothy whined, without being outright bullied. They're still mean even though I’ve mostly caught up with the other two-agers in growth now, he tried to assure himself. Yet the problems from his lamb-ling days still carried over. Buster still intimidated him every time he came around.

Man, if I were a wolf, I’d teach Buster a lesson. In fact, I’d teach them all a lesson, he told Johnny. Well, I’m not hanging around here for Buster to trot over and butt me, he declared to Johnny. You coming? He asked as he turned and pranced down over the rise, putting it between them and Buster. Once they were hidden, he said, Now, come on. Let’s go. He took off running with Johnny on his tail. They got to the edge of the trees and quickly skirted along it, headed off in the general direction of the Shepherd’s tent. If we stay low and cut around the meadows here, with a little luck, we’ll avoid those two, Timothy said to Johnny as he stopped to look behind him to see where Buster and Gainer were.

Are we running away? Johnny asked as he called out from behind him.

No. We're not running away. Not really, he thought fast. I’m just being smart and avoiding trouble. Besides, they'll see you and I are racing, he assured Johnny.

We are?

Of course. Oops. There they are, up on top where we just left. We need some more distance from those two. Thinking fast, he said, OK, Johnny. Let’s start our race now. Last one to Big Rock Point is stale wolf-bait, he yelled and took off running.

Hey, wait up. No fair, he heard Johnny call as he ran past him once again. Looking over his shoulder he saw Johnny following him at a dead run. Up on the rise he saw Buster and Gainer watching them. He grinned. He could imagine they were a little disappointed at his escape.

Can’t catch me, he called out pretending he hadn’t seen Buster and Gainer. Can't catch me, he yelled again wanting them to think they really were playing chase. He doubled his speed. He could hear Johnny racing along right behind him as they cleared the next rise and almost ran over the top of Ewellen and Skipper.

Hey. Watch where you’re frolicking! Ewellen scolded, sounding a lot like Mom. Wait. Where are you going? She called again as they raced past.

Big Rock Point, gasped Johnny over his shoulder as he bounced along.

But, that's on the far side of the Mid-Meadows, Skipper complained.

Hey! Wait for us, Timothy heard Ewellen call, but he kept on running. He didn’t think Buster or Gainer would run after them, that would look un-cool, but there was no sense taking any chances. He didn’t slow down until they all stumbled into the dell beside Big Rock Point out of breath. Gasping and laughing the four young sheep ran out into the high grass. The Flock seldom came this far with their grazing.

Timothy slowed and began to kick his hooves up and gambol about. I beat you. I beat you, he chanted.

Only because you had a head start, Ewellen said primly, but she laughed and began to jump and kick, too.

Yeah, chimed in Johnny. You cheated. You cheated, he chanted back at Timothy all the while laughing and bucking like he had a squirrel on his back. You cheated. You cheated. You might as well have bleated. He laughed some more at his rhyme.

We caught up with you two. You can’t say we didn’t, Skipper pointed out. He began his own chant, We caught you. We caught you. Ewellen chimed in joining him. Together, they all pranced and jumped about each other, each trying for a more impressive kick, or to out buck the others.

Then, Timothy and his friends heard the howl. Its mournful wailing echoed through the ridges on the Mountain above them.

Chapter 2

Wolves! Timothy heard Skipper bleat out in fear. Terrified, he dropped into the tall grass trying to hide in the green blades. Around him the other three sheep did the same, making themselves as small as they could. The mournful howl came again. This time another answered it. Now they could tell it came from up on the ridge line, somewhere above Big Rock Point.

Above the point, they simply called it the High Ridge. Unlike most of the other ridges, it led straight up the Mountain going far above even the High Meadows. Scared as he was, Timothy’s curiosity still had him staring up at the ridge. Fascinated, he saw a group of wolves emerge from a patch of trees.

Look, there they are, he whispered excitedly to the others. They’re right above us. Thank goodness they aren’t any closer. From this distance, he could tell their dark bodies were lean and muscled. They were every lamb’s worst nightmare.

Maybe they won’t notice us, Ewellen prayed. Timothy thought he could hear her wool quivering as he crouched lower himself. He was a little ashamed to be acting so afraid, but too scared to care.

I wish they were further away. They’re awfully close, maybe a hundred yards away, Timothy guessed. He swallowed and it sounded terribly loud in his ears. As he watched, the wolves began to chase one another, running back and forth. They nipped at each others' heels and jumped about the clearing, having a good time. He could hear them whining and yipping in mock fights.

Why, they’re playing! The terrible horrible wolves are playing, he hissed to the others in wonder. Just like the little lambs in the Meadow.

He gawked at them and whispered in admiration, Gosh, they're so tough and fierce and strong. Wolves have no fear and they don't have to follow any rules. They're wild and free, like I want to be. A wolf doesn’t have to follow the Shepherd or do what the Orthodox Sheep tell them to do. They can go anywhere they want. Do anything they like. Timothy felt a pang of jealousy, but he was also deathly afraid of wolves.

Shhh! Ewellen hissed back. Are you crazy? They eat sheep, and there are always a few that go missing. Everyone knows the wolves will eat you if you don’t stay close to the Flock. Safe in the Meadows with the Shepherd. Straying can be fatal, Timothy!

He scowled. Ewellen was always correcting him. Defensively he continued in his whisper, If I were a wolf, I could be up there playing right now. And I wouldn’t be afraid of anything, because everything would be afraid of me. I’d be part of the Pack. Even scared as he was, Timothy couldn't stop talking. My dad told me the wolves run together in a gang called a Pack.

The others were staring at him like he was nuts. Keep quiet! Skipper shushed him.

Timothy ignored him. In a group, wolves are invincible and not even the bears mess with them. After all, my dad always says, 'Bears aren't afraid of anything.' Timothy wasn’t sure how his dad knew, but was sure his dad was always right.

Just then, further up the ridge, a young stag bolted from a patch of brush and began to bounce away. Immediately the wolves snarled as one, and turned in pursuit. Horrified for the stag, Timothy and his friends watched. The stag only managed to take a few bounds before a wolf they hadn't noticed sprang up out of nowhere and cut it off. Whirling, it switched course and flailed at the newcomer. Timothy gasped as its hooves kicked the air through a cloud of dust. Then several wolves were there, biting and snarling, a swarming mass of bodies.

Collectively all the hidden sheep gasped. Would the wolves catch him? Horrified, they could only stare. Above them, the stag leaped over the wolves’ heads, barely clearing their lunges and raced away up the ridge. The wolves followed right behind, disappearing into the bushes under the canopy of trees.

Johnny moaned in fear. The other two, Ewellen and Skipper, were whimpering.

Will he get away? Skipper asked terrified.

Who cares? Let’s get out of here, Johnny bleated. Come on, let’s go. They’re too busy to notice us. Let’s go, he pleaded one more time as he jumped up and fled. Ewellen was right on his tail with Skipper only half a second behind.

Timothy remained frozen to the spot. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or fascination. He felt terrible for the stag. I know a few deer. I see them on the meadows now and then. The does are okay, but the stags act too high and mighty. They're not bad fellows really, just stuck up, Timothy worried to himself. Now, here's one I may have met, running for his life.

Even shocked and terrified, Timothy had to keep watching. He could still hear the struggling of the stag crashing through the brush in the far distance, breaking branches and rolling rocks, as it kept fleeing, trying to escape. All at once, it became ominously quiet.

Timothy listened, straining to hear. Did he get away? Even from here, Timothy was almost sure he could smell the stench of blood. Nauseated with fear, he turned to gaze longingly after his friends, but he just had to look back, one more time.

He froze again, and stopped breathing this time, too. Another wolf had come out of the bushes on the ridge, and it was staring down at him. It was a large dusty looking wolf, with dark markings that made him look like he was wearing a mask. He could see it licking its lips. Timothy was sure it saw him, even lying still in the tall grass. He was also sure his heart had stopped, too.

Suddenly, the wolf grinned a wicked grin. It turned, jumped back into the bushes, and was gone. Not waiting to see if it was coming for him, Timothy took off after the others as fast as he could go. Not daring to look back, he raced headlong across the Meadows, his terrified heart pounding in his chest.

Chapter 3

Timothy staggered to a stop. He’d been running non-stop since the masked wolf had seen him. Wheezing and panting, he suddenly realized that he did not know where he was. Separated from his friends, he panicked at the thought of being alone. He looked about from side to side. There, above him on top of a high grassy hill, stood the Shepherd’s tent.

The Shepherd's tent! I'll be safe there. Frightened and desperate, and still gasping for air, Timothy staggered up to the tent.

Shepherd? he called out, but there was no answer from the tent. He must be off doing His rounds across the meadows, Timothy said to himself. Oh mutton. Where is he when I need him? I’m sure he knows I really didn’t mean what I said about him earlier to Johnny. Nervously, he looked back the way he had come. Nothing stirred. I hope those wolves don’t come after me. Nothing would dare to follow me this close to the Shepherd's tent, would it?

Even with the Shepherd gone, Timothy felt safer by the tent. So safe, his curiosity began to stir. He moved up closer and saw the door flap hanging loosely. I've heard the Shepherd's door is always open. It must be true, he murmured. He stuck his head inside, curiosity battling with his respect for the Shepherd and his fear of getting caught. It was pretty empty inside. There was a simple cot with a chest at its foot, and a plain wooden table. Standing on the table was a pewter cup with some red liquid in it. Next to it was a large loaf of bread that looked dry and hard.

Wine, the memory came to him. Wine was what Uncle Ramsey said the Shepherd kept in his tent. He sniffed the cup. It doesn’t smell bad. Kind of like the sweet flowers by the Big Pond. Except it smells a little like soured grass, too. He wrinkled his nose. He didn't like the taste of sour grass. The bread, however, interested him. He looked at it longingly as his mouth watered, Better not. The Shepherd may come back and catch me eating it. Pulling his head back out of the tent, Timothy walked around it, noting a small stack of firewood and a few blankets stacked against one side. He stopped abruptly.

Oh no, he said under his breath. Another wolf! It followed me! He could see the hair of the wolf where it crouched. It was right beside the Shepherd’s tent! Ready to pounce on him and rip him apart! Timothy moaned in fear, but he couldn’t seem to make his feet move.

Run, he told himself. Run. But he stood there hardly breathing, trembling and staring at the crouching beast. It’s going to come for me. Any second, it’s going to leap up and it’ll be on me. Still, he couldn’t get his feet to move. He stood there with the color draining from the world. Timothy closed his eyes and prayed. Shepherd save me. I can’t bear to watch.

He stood there trembling and waited. He was sure it was about to pounce. After a minute or two, he was still waiting to be eaten.

What’s wrong with it? Why isn’t it killing me? he wondered. Maybe it’s gone? Carefully he opened one eye and squinted through the eyelid, as if keeping his eyes closed gave him some protection. He peeked at where the wolf had been.

It's still there! He clamped his eye shut, his heart racing anew. But... it isn’t moving. He opened both eyes half way. He watched it, and waited some more. It still wasn’t moving. In fact, he was pretty sure it was in the same position that it had been when he first saw it.

Is it asleep, he asked himself? Maybe I can sneak off now before it wakes up. I better try. Standing here is just going to get me killed.

Slowly he began to back up. After just a few painfully slow steps backwards, he managed to put the tent between himself and the wolf. Turning, he tried sneaking off as quietly as he could, but he tripped over a rock and the noise sounded horribly loud in his ears. Scrambling to stay up, he could hear the gravel rolling noisily under his feet.

Too loud! Timothy shrieked silently. Run, was all he could think. He fled as fast as he could go, straight back, all the way across the Meadows. He had gotten lost earlier, but from here he knew his way home. As he ran along, he decided, I'll head back to the hill where I ran off from Buster and Gainer. That's a safe place, he told himself wheezing. There are lots of sheep around there. There have got to be plenty of rams around close enough to discourage a lone wolf.

Gasping and panting, as he neared the hillock, he saw his three friends on top huddled together. They were watching him anxiously as he ran up to them.

Are you all right, Timmy? Johnny asked. When Timothy couldn’t catch his breath, Johnny went on, You sure scared us.

Yeah, Ewellen added. You gave us a bad scare. When we realized that you weren’t with us, we thought sure the wolves had gotten you. Just like that poor stag.

I thought so, too, Timothy was able to gasp out. As he struggled to breathe again, he managed to tell them about the masked wolf on the ridge, and how it had looked right at him. Then, he told how he ran to the Shepherd’s tent. Warming to his story, he began to elaborate about the wolf he found there, making his part a little more courageous and adventurous than it had been. Johnny gawked at his story, but Skipper bristled. Finally Timothy finished up, almost bragging about how fearlessly he had run away from the wolf while it slept.

Johnny's eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open. Timothy could tell Johnny believed every word he’d said. Ewellen was seriously doubtful, and politely refrained from arguing, but Skipper practically called him a liar.

No way! No one is going to believe that a wolf would dare to be at the Shepherd’s tent, Skipper challenged his story. "After all, hard as the