Black Sheep

No, I'm not crossing over into the second-best niche-horror-genre and writing a novel based on that awesome New Zealand film Black Sheep.  I'm talking about a real black sheep.  I have three (well, one of them is more brown than black) in my small flock.  While they aren't murdering zombie sheep (like in the movie), they're just as compelled to eat.  Thank god they crave grass and not brains, because these sheep are amazing.  I bet you didn't know this, but sheep possess the strength of ten elephants when there is grain nearby.  It's like a food-geiger-counter inside the sheep started to crackle and buzz as they get closer, causing their muscles to strengthen as they lose all sense of the world around them and dive towards dinner.

I'm not weak (male, 185 pounds, 2nd degree black belt, in my 30's), and I got pulled in half by two sheep this morning. Yes, as I type this I am indeed two halves of one person.  Hopefully I'll heal in time for lunch or my food will fall out of the seam.  This is what happened:

We have new lambs in our flock, which means they get herded very carefully to their pasture (which gets moved around the field every few weeks - right now it's at the faaaar end). There are two ring-leaders among the flock who, due to sheer maliciousness of will, try to go anywhere but where they're supposed to go.  The others will follow them if left unchecked, and it's very hard to catch a rogue herd of loose sheep, so these two ewes (we'll call them "asshole" and "bastard face" for the sake of anonymity) have to be walked on a leash, like dogs, out to the pasture. This is fairly routine--a routine that includes having a prize of grain in the pasture, as well as a small dish of grain handy in case one of them get loose.  This morning, in mid-sprint (picture a man just under six feet tall running in a deep-knee crouch while pulling two reluctant sheep who are only three feet tall), I ... dropped ... the ... grain. 

One of the sheep noticed.  It was the black sheep, a.k.a. bastard-face.  Asshole kept running, having spotted the end-game prize of grain.  Bastard face slammed on her super-human brakes and pulled full force in the opposite direction.  Now picture the man, running n a deep-knee crouch, being spun, drawn into the air like some cartoon, and being ripped in half.

I'm gong to go get some coffee, and some paper towels in case it leaks back out through the split.