Our Emerald Isle -Killer Sheep

Traci said she would do anything she could to insure that Brian's Black and Tan would be a success.  She had noticed over the last several weeks that there was a lull in business before noon each Saturday and thought that if some method could be devised to get patrons in earlier that sales would i O ncrease in the early morning hours and by virtue of already being there those present would stay for lunch.  Her plan worked.

Every Saturday morning beginning precisely at 9:00 she would take a bucket of soapy water and sponge and begin washing the outside of the windows.  Now washing windows in and of themselves would not normally draw a crowd but she had devised a method of washing three pains at the same time.  Being a family type of narrative I will let your imagination conjure up how this task was performed.

There were no seats available near the windows on this one particular Saturday morning so when O’Gradey came in like he always did around 10:30 he sat at the bar and listened to me finish up a story about the time I tracked a polar bear while living in Alaska.  All were very much impressed. 

“So you see my friends there is not a meaner or more dangerous animal in all the world.” I concluded.

O’Gradey while hunched over his first pint of the day said that sure enough a polar bear was an animal that deserved respect but he took issue as to it being the most dangerous animal in the world.  “It’s undoubtedly the meanest animal in the arctic, but not the world, that would be our Killer Sheep not found far from here in the Thickets and Hills of O’Clare.”  The crowd nodded their heads in agreement.

I could not let the comment go unchallenged.  “Why I have never heard of a killer sheep.”

“Well it is nothing we talk about much, it’s bad for tourism.  In fact I am one of the few men alive that has ever hunted the beast and lived to tell the tale.”

This I had to hear.  “And what may tell would that tale be?”

“It was a blistery cold day,” he began as the crowd gathered around, except for the young men sitting by the window pretending not to watch Traci wash the widows, “and the towns people of De’Vere realized that something had to be done.  One of the killer sheep had wondered down from the mountains and had been killing pigs, chickens, and peaceful sheep.  The Town Council knew that I was a veteran of the troubled times and had spent time away having found it only prudent that I leave our beloved country for awhile until things cooled down and reside in Africa..  While in Africa I took up big game hunting.  The Village people knew I was the only one who could track and destroy the Killer Sheep or at least chase it back to the Thickets and Hills of O’Clare.  They were right of course and I deemed it my duty to protect our town.  Pigs, chickens, peaceful sheep today and our little children tomorrow, yes I would take the challenge.

“I went to the place where the last kill was reported.  Near the carcass of a bonnie looking sheep I saw the tracks leading back toward the Thickets and Hill of O’Clare.  I could tell by the size of the hoof prints and the stride that this was a big one and that my task was a challenge.  I was not deterred, I had my spear and sling I had taken off a Zulu warrior and a trusty British Enfield I had acquired during the troubles, nothing would stop me from by task.

“I came to the first row of thickets and pressed thru, cutting my skin and tearing my clothes but on I went.  I proceeded this way for an hour or so until I stepped in a bog and sunk to my hips.  I struggled out of the muck but in so doing I dropped my Enfield and it was sucked down in the mud.  There was no way of retrieving it.  My spear and sling were looped over my shoulder so I continued my hunt.

“I clawed and crawled through the thickets that ran up hill for another hour or so.  I finally came to a clearing and paused to rest.  I must have dozed off for I was awoken by a sound that immediately put a shiver in my spine.  I looked around to where the sound was coming from and saw the biggest Killer Sheep I had ever seen.  Bigger than the one they use to keep stuffed at the terminal at the Shannon Airport until the tourism commission protested.  For some reason though the Killer Sheep was not aware of my presence.  I silently said a Hale Marry and an Our Father. 

“Gently and quietly I rose to my feet, assembled by spear and sling and with all my might through the spear and hit the Killer Sheep right above his shoulder blade.  To my horror however the spear bounced off.  The Killer Sheep turned and sat its eyes upon me.  It snorted like a wild hog, pawed its front hoofs like a raging bull, and charged at me like a white rhino, all of which I had seen before, but never without a weapon in my hand.

“A Killer Sheep’s speed is legendary, but this one seemed faster than legends.  The closer he got the faster he got and when there was just a few yards separating us he opened his mouth wide as if to engulf me like a whale did one of my companions when I was whaling off the coast of Madagascar and continued his attack.

“I stood my ground however knowing I could not out run the beast and just as he was about to make me no more I reached inside its mouth with my right arm plunged it to the rear of the beast, grabbed its stubby tail pulled back as hard as I could turned the creature inside out and he started running the other way.” 

I told Brian to get Mr. O’Gradey a quart of whatever it was he was drinking.  On this day I had been out done.