(no subject)
Here's a story that one of my friends told me....
Ok, so we have these sheep. Why? Because my wife said we were getting sheep. Anyways, one of the sheep was this little baby bottle-fed ram. One day the baby ram becomes a young adult and decides to headbutt my 8 year old son. My son got flying lessons but was unhurt; it could have been very bad. (Keep in mind that sheep are 60 pounds of genetically-engineered head butting fury. They can *cream* you.)
So wife says, "We gotta get rid of that ram." Two days later, the wife mentions that the ram is dead. I go out to look, and there he is, dead by the fence. We don't know why. My guess is that he tried to head-butt the neighbor's sheep through the fence and broke his neck.
So my son is crying because his sheep is dead, and I have to dispose of the carcass. No gov't agency seemed to be responsible for sheep disposal.
So I start digging a hole. Did I mention it was August and HOT? I dig and dig, and dig. I am sweating my brains out, and my back hurts. I don't want scavengers digging this thing up and spread its parts everywhere. Finally, I am done.
The ram is stiff from rigor mortis. I grab the sheep by the hooves, drag him a few feet, and drop him back-first into the hole. THUD. Done!
...and it's legs are sticking up out of the hole by 10". And they won't bend. The blood drains from my face. It's one of those moments were you utter a single profanity, quietly. The grave looks like this: _V_V_
My son is there, so sad. I can't lift this rotting thing out of the hole. It's too heavy and I have no leverage. "Son, why don't you go inside now..."
He walks toward the house. I wait a few minutes, go to the barn, and get a hatchet. I can't hit the sheep. I just can't. But I have to since I can't get it out to make the hole deeper. So I steel myself, and take a feeble swing. To my surprise, the legbone breaks. "THIS IS EASY!!!" Three more swings, and some creative folding, and the ram goes on to the next life with 86.3% of his original dignity!
Ok, so we have these sheep. Why? Because my wife said we were getting sheep. Anyways, one of the sheep was this little baby bottle-fed ram. One day the baby ram becomes a young adult and decides to headbutt my 8 year old son. My son got flying lessons but was unhurt; it could have been very bad. (Keep in mind that sheep are 60 pounds of genetically-engineered head butting fury. They can *cream* you.)
So wife says, "We gotta get rid of that ram." Two days later, the wife mentions that the ram is dead. I go out to look, and there he is, dead by the fence. We don't know why. My guess is that he tried to head-butt the neighbor's sheep through the fence and broke his neck.
So my son is crying because his sheep is dead, and I have to dispose of the carcass. No gov't agency seemed to be responsible for sheep disposal.
So I start digging a hole. Did I mention it was August and HOT? I dig and dig, and dig. I am sweating my brains out, and my back hurts. I don't want scavengers digging this thing up and spread its parts everywhere. Finally, I am done.
The ram is stiff from rigor mortis. I grab the sheep by the hooves, drag him a few feet, and drop him back-first into the hole. THUD. Done!
...and it's legs are sticking up out of the hole by 10". And they won't bend. The blood drains from my face. It's one of those moments were you utter a single profanity, quietly. The grave looks like this: _V_V_
My son is there, so sad. I can't lift this rotting thing out of the hole. It's too heavy and I have no leverage. "Son, why don't you go inside now..."
He walks toward the house. I wait a few minutes, go to the barn, and get a hatchet. I can't hit the sheep. I just can't. But I have to since I can't get it out to make the hole deeper. So I steel myself, and take a feeble swing. To my surprise, the legbone breaks. "THIS IS EASY!!!" Three more swings, and some creative folding, and the ram goes on to the next life with 86.3% of his original dignity!