Nothing good last forever, but no one lives forever either. Therefore, if you are lucky enough to be born into a good period, depending on your station, you could be good for a long, long time. Well, once upon a time in pastures so green and fertile, this occurred exactly, and the biggest benefactor were some sheeps. Sheep herding had been the occupation of numerous generations of this family. They had gotten very good at it, and that, combined with such great environmental favor for so long, was the closest thing to Heaven on Earth for them and their sheeps.
The sheeps produced the finest wool in the world. Of course, this was due to a great diet of fresh food and water, and masterful breeding management. The family literally had money to burn because everyone wanted their wool. Of course, again, it didn’t hurt that a war occurred and the demand for fine wool skyrocketed. This should also be mentioned not all sheep herders were scrupulous.
But really, this story is only partly about all that. This story is about the sheeps. They were like sheeps who laid some golden eggs. Therefore, they had to be protected at all times. Now, the family was quite industrious, but that didn’t mean they necessarily believed in hard work. They believed in smart work, which meant more money for less expended energy. The hardest job was the actual herding of the sheeps. Absolutely no one liked actually herding those sheep. In fact, they hated it. And this is why it became less of a problem.
Long story short, they taught some dogs how to herd some sheep, and that worked perfectly. Dogs were cheap, and they learned quickly one dog could teach another dog how to herd faster than they ever could. The best part was they could take sport in feeding the dogs. These guys had crossbows and even drunk they were experts with them. Hence, herding became hunting and hunting was sport well worth the effort. But that is not what this story is about either.
Not a single sheep was lost when the dogs were put to task. Not one. No wolves got any. No poachers got any. None even got struck by lightning, because the dogs made them all lay down when it stormed. It worked perfectly! The dogs could even sense (smell, I guess) when the herders needing herding, which happened more than you might think. These dogs were so good they never had to bark unless they really wanted to. They would sneak up on poachers and tear them to shreds like trained assassins. It truly was the perfect life for a dog.
But the sheeps are the real story here. They hated those fucking dogs, and they hated those fucking herders. Sure the food was good and they were safe from predators and lightning, but like all living things they eventually wanted more. After all, they reasoned, everybody else was getting fat and rich off them, they deserved better. The only thing was none of them could think of anything better. Sheeps have little imaginative capacity it seems. All they knew is that if the dogs would just leave they would feel much better. But that was a double edged sword.
The worst dog, the most hated dog of all, was Sniffy. Sniffy was always sticking his cold, wet nose into their private parts and their mouths, and their ears. They hated that. So, when it came right down to it, getting rid of Sniffy would be nice, too. And Nippy, he had to go, as well.
The sheeps also had the problem that no one would lead. No one. They all complained about it, but nobody ever stepped up. Someone would say, “We need to get rid of Sniffy!” And, everyone would agree, and then everyone would go back to munching grass or screwing. It was maddening.
Once in a while one of the sheeps was taken away. It happened often enough to make them wonder, but not often enough to scare them. Besides, it was usually a lamb and they were a pain anyway. They never shut up. No one ever did anything about this either.
The sheep also didn’t like being mounted by those sheep dogs. The sheeps didn’t know what to think of this. It didn’t actually hurt, but it did feel awkward, especially for the males. It is said that this is where the bleat, “Baa!” comes from. It had been going on for so long no one thought much of it anymore.
And then one day a bastard sheep was born and no one knew what to make of it, or more importantly, from where it had come. It mostly looked like a sheep, but it looked a lot like Nippy in the face and mouth. It had canine teeth, which was weird in itself. It also had a long, rat-like tail. And it was smart, real smart. The herders laughed and named it, Shog. They thought that was clever and really believed they had stumbled on something big: a self-herding sheep. They could hardly wait until it mated with something.
Shog was born pissed off about something, but no one ever bothered asking. Shog was a loner and bit anyone who violated his imaginary borders. The dogs avoided him, but he did little to draw their attention. He moved with the herd and didn’t make noise and laid down for storms. His wool was exceptionally shiny and strong. To the herder’s dismay, Shog failed to mate with anything.
Shearing time was always interesting. No matter how many times a sheep had been shorn they never seemed to get used to it. Maybe it was because drunken herders get a little aggressive with the shears. Maybe it was because it was just such a drastic change. Either way, the air was tense when the shears were a clipping. So when Shog disappeared into thin air, everyone thought it was due to the shearing.
It wasn’t difficult. Shog waited until the herders left and most of the sheeps were asleep and deftly jumped the short fence. The dogs didn’t work during shearing time. The goofed off in the pens on the other side of the barn. Shog was miles and miles away before he was missed.
And then a funny thing happened. Shog stopped in his tracks and was struck with a question: where was he going? He had no idea, so he turned around, but he took the scenic route back to the barn, and this is what happened.
Shog was hungry, but wasn’t in the mood for grass. He happened upon a chicken farm and before he knew it he was running off with a rooster in his mouth. In the end he just left that rooster dead because the damn feathers spoiled the meal. He was still hungry and now just a little bit angry, too. Shog spotted a rabbit then, and made short work of it. He enjoyed this meal, except for the fur part. That, he didn’t like.
Now that he had developed an appetite for meat Shog noticed changes in his musculature. And that meant he could run faster, jump higher and took thoroughly nasty poops that even he couldn’t stand sniffing. He even started hunting at night because it was easier. And this is how Shog’s legend grew. It didn’t take long for most everyone to have a Shog story to tell, each more fantastic than the last. Of course, Shog was also starting to seriously piss some people off. No good would come from this.
Humans, not being as leadership challenged as sheeps, decided to take action and implanted a plan. It was simple. All they had to do was hunt down and kill Shog. Since they all loved a good hunt they had no problem motivating each other. It became a sport and many bets were made. Shog’s head was worth then times its weight in gold.
But of course, the original herder family captured Shog with a net when they spied Shog mounting one of their sheeps dog. It was surprisingly easy. But, they didn’t want to kill Shog. They still believed he was useful, and wanted to breed him. Besides, they had enough money already and were more interested in fun. What they didn’t know was that Shog had mounted several dogs before Pokey, and numerous sheeps, as well. Shog, apparently, was making up for lost time. But all the herders could think about was how to get Shog to mount females instead of males. That was a real head scratcher.
As it turns out, they couldn’t figure out how to solve this difficult problem. Everything they tried failed and they decided Shog could not mate in captivity, but he could do the next best thing. After much heated discussion one of the girls was brought in and a few hours later she came back with a jug full of Shog juice for them to pour in a female. This is where the story gets strange. The herders didn’t bother keeping track of which animals they impregnated, so now you have a case of erroneous success from an erroneous problem. Wars have been started over less than this.
As you have undoubtedly guessed, birthing time was quite a spectacle at the herder’s farm. Seven of the births were most memorable because they seemed to confirm the success of the impregnation experiment. The only problem was none of them looked anything alike. The herders were confused. They expected a little variation, but nothing like what they witnessed now. There could be only one explanation: they had pissed off God, so they had to sacrifice the most recently born human female child. Of course the mother was charged with this grisly task, and she did the right thing and ran off to another family of herders and lived with her child happily ever after. Same difference, thought the herder family. They got rid of her and her whiny offspring.
Because of all the erroneous stuff, the breeding portion of the family herding business went completely haywire. It is impossible to stop sheeps from breeding even if it was a smart thing to do. Now, you throw in the dogs and the herders and all this conspires to produce a result that no one could predict. And that is exactly what happened. They spread like fleas throughout the land and soon throughout the known world. This is why it is called “Worsted” wool.