Nary A Lamb Were Lost

No one would own up to leaving the gate open that warm summer day when the lambs got loose. All anyone was positive of was that a flock of sheep had come thundering down the coast from 'round The Point, turned the corner to the wharf and headed toward the open water at breakneck speed with Old Hat and her shotgun hot on their heels. The lambs reached the end of the breakwater where there was a mass collision and pile up, then the laws of physics and oncoming momentum took charge and over they went.

The ensuing commotion would've woken the dead, Nana claimed afterwards - twenty or thirty sheep sinking into the sea and Old Hat watching in a mad, helpless dance of passion and rage, screaming curses to the afternoon sky and firing at the gathering seagulls. From his front porch, Sparrow watched the growing chaos and sighing heavily, rose from his old rocking chair and trotted toward the disaster. He calmly disengaged the shotgun from the old crone's hands and in one smooth gesture tossed her scrawny body feet first into the ocean. By then, incoming fishermen were on the scene, netting the sheep into their boats and the factory women had left their places to wade into the water and drag the protesting lambs to land. Old Hat was rescued last and brought to shore, 90 pounds of kicking, screeching, clawing and ungrateful profanity, neatly tucked under John Sullivan's arm, kelp covered and spitting sea water. It were some sorry sight, Alice, John allowed to my grandmother later that day, Some comical, too, but nary a lamb were lost. That old scattergun though, well, that be a diff'rent tale.

To the dismay of no one save its owner, the old shotgun had mysteriously vanished in the fray. Sparrow claimed to have flung it into the waves and while no one confirmed this, no one contradicted it either. It was not found that day, not found for many days after and then it appeared to have washed up on the rocks in several useless pieces. The old hag gathered them carefully and buried them in the back garden under Sparrow's distant but one good eye. When she was done, she scattered ashes and barb wire over the ground, layered it with rocks, and spit. The scattergun was retired at long last and The Point became a quieter place. And nary a lamb had been lost.