At the end of the windy road, lived the Shepherd. The passing of time is noted well in the notches of his fence. For as many things that have changed he could not be bothered to change the fence. He’s managed fine over the years, keeping up with the ebbs and flows of shepherding; he learned the task by fire. He simply showed up at the House one day and offered to help the Elder. Eventually, the Shepherd earned his name and became renowned for his techniques; their flock of sheep was the most well-trained for the valleys around, owing much to the Shepherd’s Border Collie. The Elder knew the Shepherd was to be the successor in the early going and gave him free rein to run the farm as he pleased.

Once the Elder passed and the Shepherd was left to his own devices, the Shepherd further refined his techniques to be the latest modes. He was dazzled by what he saw in the towns over and knew that he could apply those methods to his flock. The flock by now was much larger and unrecognizable from those he managed when he first came aboard. The sheep were much more gentle, their wool more refined. In fact, he was able to sell to wool vendors at a rate that he previously thought was unimaginable. The Collie too was becoming expert at his daily routine. He no longer needed prodding nor a schedule to tend to the flock. His acumen and intellect were comparable to those of a highly capable child. The Shepherd took great pleasure in observing the growth under his care. He was able to expand his standing lavishly and host functions for the townsfolk.

One fine summer evening, an itinerant Trader showed up at the House at the end of the road. The Trader was a healthy man, of not more than 30 years. He said he had been visiting flocks near and far on a roadshow of his herbs specially formulated for sheep. The herbs, the Trader promised, could make the flock more obedient and voluminous. He assured the Shepherd that there were no side effects; the herbs had been tested across many flocks with nary a concern in the past few months. The Shepherd had no restraint, for he saw this as an advantage; he had long prided himself as one of the keepers of the vanguard. The Shepherd agreed to use the new product with the stipulation being that he owed a royalty to the Trader. A small cost given his Collie was now aging and he no longer had the vigor to help with the flock. The Shepherd too was fraying with the turning of the seasons. He could ill afford to decline an opportunity to reduce his day-to-day life as he had had no such luck finding a stray man willing to apprentice and wait in the wings.

The herbs were god-sent. The sheep he produced now were large and cooperative. In fact they were so well adjusted, most days the Shepherd didn’t even realize they were there at all. His Collie, too, was thankful for these herbs. He could now spend the days lazing about the House. The Shepherd could now yield better wool than ever and his merchants could not be happier. Things were rosy until one of the merchants noticed a certain wiriness in the wool. Running his hand through the wool, the merchant found a distinct metallic texture, unfamiliar to him. The Shepherd paid no mind and said that was an exception. It was an outlier until the problem multiplied over the coming months. Soon half of the flock had this quality. The Shepherd was in no shape to cull the sheep and remove the bad ones himself.

Lacking options, he called the Trader and told him about the change to the sheep’s wool. The Trader was incredulous and said it was nothing to worry about. The Shepherd demanded he come back to the farm to see the issue for himself. Of course the Trader by this point was so successful that the Shepherd was lucky to even have had his call heard. The Trader, by virtue of the Shepherd being one of his loyalists, offered his latest re-formulation. One that had truly no side-effects this time.

The Shepherd was grateful for he didn’t know what he would have done without the new herbs. The new batch completely eliminated the wool problems he was having. Even more miraculously, the sheep seemed to have gained a newfound consciousness. They now kept themselves and no longer needed an active hand. The Shepherd was dumbfounded; he now had no work besides walking his flock into town to show them off to his merchants. The merchants were astounded at his animals. The animals were gentle, giving, and aware. They produced the most delicate and fine wool in the region. The Shepherd was a hit. He hardly lifted a finger and yet he was more successful than he had ever been.

His flock even began to produce their own formulation of the herb. He wasn’t even sure of what kind of herbs his creatures were made of nor did he have a desire to understand. He slowly let his flock move into a state of just being while he receded into himself. Soon enough the sheep were so mindful to not even need to be walked by the Shepherd himself. They strode gallantly along the country roads to be plucked in the town and come back in unison. Every now and again, however, one or two would get lost but the Shepherd relented; that was just the cost of doing business.

For a time his flock dwindled, though the few remaining were as vibrant as ever. So what if he didn’t make as much as he once did? He still made more than what he started with. As we all know now, eventually all the sheep disappeared. Not all at once nor in a hurry. The Shepherd doesn’t know why but he didn’t question it either. For he was too busy minding himself. The house fell in disrepair alongside his fields. He was slowly forgetting the days of poring over the fields and knowing each member of his flock like the back of his hand. The nuances of his trade were no longer a concern of his. The ideas and techniques he once labored over and over were relics of his youth.

The townspeople’s concern for the Shepherd grew by the week. Once upon a time, the pride of the town rested on the success of its Shepherd. The Shepherd no longer had a presence during the fairs and other civic events, alarming the residents. They dispatched the local Sheriff to check on the Shepherd. The Sheriff went to check on the house at the end of the road and found disrepair. Wildly overgrown grass in the fields, a tattered fence that had been weather-beaten to strands of wood, and a dilapidated housing front. There were no sheep to be found. The Sheriff knocked on the house’s front door and it just flew right open at first touch. He looked around the home and called for the Shepherd. He heard a ruffling and from around the corner the Border Collie emerged. The Collie was on his hind legs and standing completely upright. He was wearing the Shepherd’s spectacles as well.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff!”

The Sheriff, absolutely startled, reached for his holster and demanded to know where the Shepherd was.

“You’re absolutely right – I should go get him for you at once!”

The Collie bounded into the kitchen and wheeled out his de-spectacled owner, who sat with a wry smile.

A sheep with small wings flying close to the sunA simple black-and-white line drawing in the manner of a single-panel cartoon: a woolly sheep, wearing a pair of undersized feathered wings, drifting up toward a radiating sun.