The shepherd whistled his dog over to him, and while gently massaging the dog's neck and mane said,"Another day of work awaits us Dominic. Let us do our job well." The dog looked eagerly at his master, his tongue hanging and tail wagging.

They walked out of the hut and made their way to the pen. It was early morning, but the sun had already begun to shine brightly. The grass glowed as if like a sheet of emerald strewn across the land, and the sky was as a cousin of the sea that had ascended and moved to heaven.

The shepherd and Dominic were met with bleets as they approached the pen.

"Alright, quiet down all of you. We're taking you to the fields now."

The shepherd opened the gates to let out the sheep, manually forcing the few that stayed behind to move. He noticed one in a far corner of the pen and set Dominic on him. "That's it, boy. Shove em out."

The one sheep was acting peculiarly; most sheep needed for Dominic to be only within ten yards of them before they moved of their own accord. This one seemed obstinate, and resolved to hold its ground. It seemed to be staring Dominic square in the eyes. After barking and faking attack, Dominic paused and looked at his master, his head tilted slightly as if to say to the shepherd,"What's wrong with this one? It's as if he does not agree with the program."

The shepherd walked over to the sheep and jabbed it lightly with his staff. "Come on, you. I'll sheer and slaughter you right here if you're going to be uppity, so help me god."

The sheep moved, slowly and almost reluctantly, as if it were a human. The shepherd scratched his head, but shrugged off the incident.

The day went on normally, but towards the evening the shepherd noticed a lone sheep grazing on its own away from the main flock.

"Is that the same sheep from this morning? Dominic, go rein him in. The wolves are going to eye a free meal like that, and that'll bring em to the flock as a whole."

Dominic rushed to do his master's bidding, but the sheep offered resistance again, this time clearly acting in opposition. As Dominic came close the sheep made motion as if to ram him. Dominic came at him again and again, and at each time the sheep demonstrated its will. Dominic gave up and ran back to the shepherd.

"What is wrong with that thing?"

As night approached the shepherd drove the flock into their pen, the lone sheep straggling behind half obedient and half defiant. "You'd better watch out, you."

In the night as the shepherd was winding down with his cup of honeyed milk, with Dominic resting beside his rocking chair, he heard a slight disturbance outside in the yard. Low primal grunts punctuated the frantic bleets of the sheep, and the shepherd whispered to Dominic,"It's the wolves, boy. If I weren't so old, and if I hadn't just one of you, I'd go out. Damn! I need to put up a fence around the compound, a bigger and sturdier one."

The shepherd chose to wait untill the morning and cut his losses from there.

When the morning came the shepherd shook with rage as he inspected the damage. A sizable portion of his flock was missing, and some were slumped on the ground half-mauled and dead.

"God damn it!!"

But as he looked further he saw two wolf carcasses and wondered out aloud,"What's this?"

Standing over the dead wolves were three sheep - the one in the middle clearly the dominant one, and the obstinate one from the day before. "You? Did you do this?"

The shepherd was amazed. The lone sheep was bloodied on his flank, but the wounds around its head clearly showed signs of a fight.

"So... you've found yourself two followers have you?" said the shepherd, refering to the two sheep that stood by the lone sheep's side. "Alright then. A deal I'll make with you. You are still to be in my flock, and you will still be my possession. But I will grant you autonomy; you will move as you please within the confines of my rule, and feed where and when you please. And you shall instill the same independance within the other sheep, but remember, you are all mine."

The sheep stared silently into the shepherd's eyes, as if seriously considering his offer. It turned and started to make its exit through a break in the pen, with the two sheep following behind.

"Where are you going? Come back here!! Dominic, stop them!!"

The dog chased the sheep and tried to control them, but the sheep just turned to face him and surrounded him, their heads lowered as if threatening to butt. Dominic was a good dog, but even he knew when he was outnumbered and out-strengthed. The shepherd looked on in silence, his face lined with bitter rage.

"Fine. Go, and never come back, lest you corrupt the rest of my flock."

The three sheep walked to the fringe of the woods before disappearing forever from the shepherd's life.

"Our age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchres of the fathers. It writes biographies, histories, and criticism. The foregoing generations beheld God and nature face to face; we, through their eyes. Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe? Why should not we have a poetry and philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a religion by revelation to us, and not the history of theirs? Embosomed for a season in nature, whose floods of life stream around and through us, and invite us by the powers they supply, to action proportioned to nature, why should we grope among the dry bones of the past, or put the living generation into masquerade out of its faded wardrobe? The sun shines to-day also. There is more wool and flax in the fields. There are new lands, new men, new thoughts. Let us demand our own works and laws and worship." - Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essay on Nature.

She paused a while from mopping to wipe the sweat off her face. Even in the air-conditioned comfort of her home the summer heat was intrusive. She had just came home an hour before from grocery shopping, and was still a little bit shaken from the incident that had taken place there. As she was leaving the store, and walking to her car, a small group of young men had started whistling and making cat calls, and making rude propositions.

"Woohooo... hello, hello, little lady. Aren't you a fine one? Oh... look at that thing... "

She had felt disturbed; she was spoken for, taken, and so such comments and advances made her feel uncomfortable. As quickly as she could she got into the car and drove home, back to the secure confines of her castle.

She rushed to finish mopping the floor as dinnertime was but an hour and a half away.

It's about closing time now. He should be getting ready to leave work. Thank god I left the steak out to defrost just now.

She put up the mop and pail, and started to prepare a meal.

He said he wanted steak and baked potato tonight.

Her hands worked fast, and she was so engrossed in what she was doing that she didn't even notice the time pass by. By six she had finished making dinner, and just in time too for he had reached home .

"Hey, Tammy. How was your day darlin'? Mmm.. something smells good... "

She smiled. It pleased her to know he was pleased.

Dinner was eaten quietly, only occasionally punctuated by conversation.

"Damn, girl. That hit the spot and then some... Good job."

She smiled as she cleared the plates and brought them to the sink. After dinner he always liked to sit on the porch with a beer and a cigarrette, but as she was washing the dishes, she felt his hands groping her behind, and his heated mouth on her neck and ears.

"Miss Tammy. I had such a busy day today... "

She shrunk a bit from him, but his firm hands brought her nearer.

"Daddy... no. Please?"

N.B.: This writing is NOT for pornographic purposes.

The writer paced about his small dimly lit room, searching his mind for any scraps of idea it might be hiding. He had not written in three days and his hands were itching to pound the keyboard - what the body yearned the mind would not yield. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead from the reservoirs that had pooled under the fringe of his hair. In the panic of his withdrawal he sat at the desk and started typing what unlearned words his automatic mind could muster:

"The writer paced about his small dimly lit room, searching his mind for any scraps of idea it might be hiding. He had not written in three days and his hands were itching to pound the keyboard - what the body yearned the mind would not yield. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead from the reservoirs that had pooled under the fringe of his hair. In the panic of his withdrawal he sat at the desk and started typing what unlearned words his automatic mind could muster:

'The writer paced about his small dimly lit room, searching his mind for any scraps of idea it might be hiding. He had not written in three days and his hands were itching to pound the keyboard - what the body yearned the mind would not yield. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead from the reservoirs that had pooled under the fringe of his hair. In the panic of his withdrawal he sat at the desk and started typing what unlearned words his automatic mind could muster, but he could not write anything' "

The writer froze. He reached for a cigarette, his hands trembling to even light the fire of his own eventual demise.

"There's the apostrophe, and that thing that's like the half-spirited cousin of the apostrophe. How do I continue from there?"

The writer paced about his small dimly lit room again, searching his mind for any scraps of idea it might be hiding.