I was counting sheep the other night while trying to fall asleep, and was doing pretty good, as each consecutive sheep managed to vault over a little picket fence and scamper off into the distance. I’ll be darned if one of the little beggars didn’t trip over the fence though, just as I was almost asleep.

Well, you wouldn’t have believed the commotion in my head – sheep ambulances began to arrive, and sheep paramedics scrambled to assess the fallen sheep’s condition. You’d think one sheep bleating was bad enough, but a few of the younger ones in the crowd started in with sympathy bleating.

Soon enough, there was a growing cacophony of bleats, which caused the sheep paramedics to struggle with focusing on their patient. Even though the fallen sheep did seem to be suffering from some sort of injury, he was quite clearly still conscious, as evidenced by his infernal bleating. One sheep paramedic, clearly rattled by the racket, decided to give the victim a round of the cardio paddles.

Well, if you think sheep hair (would that be wool if it’s still on the sheep in question?) is curly just by itself, imagine what it looks like when it’s wet with sweat from building up a good head of steam to try jumping over a fence, then electrified. The damn sheep looked like a ripe dandelion with ears, about to blow apart in the wind.

Then the sheep, even as injured as he may have been, sprung up like one of those cartoon cats, pell-melled his hooves in the air frantically, and ran off in the opposite direction of the fence. The rest of the herd followed, which pretty much quashed any hopes I had of resuming my count.

Tonight, I intend on counting frogs. And they’ll have a very low fence to contend with, let me tell you…

Chow for now!!