stevenjohnstonblog

~ Short stories about anything and everything

stevenjohnstonblog

Tag Archives: wool

U Devil Ewe

28 Saturday Jul 2018

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

fire, happy, new zealand, sad, shearers, sheep, te kuiti, wool

The following is a story about a ewe that doesn’t like to be sheared and will do anything she can to avoid it.

Te kuiti is a tiny town a little way south of Hamilton on the north island of New Zealand.

New Zealand is known as the land of the long white cloud and its stunning landscapes captured in all its splendour in the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

While Te kuiti is also beautiful town it is best known for its award winning sheep.

One of those sheep is a three year old ewe named Molly.

Molly hasn’t won any ribbons ad she isn’t about to any time soon.

Not unless they are handing out ribbons for being the most cantankerousĀ  ewe on the island.

Because if they were Molly would surely be wearing a shit load of bling.

Soon after she was born Molly was rejected by her mother and left to the elements and she would have died on her first day in this world if her bleating wasn’t heard by farmer Bob.

He gently picked her up from the wet grass and carried inside the farmhouse where his daughter he and his two daughters fed Molly her first bottle of milk.

Everyday Molly drank bottle after bottle of the fat rich liquid and after a couple of months she was getting to be a little to big for the house.

Plus farmer Bob and his offspring were getting annoyed by Molly blocking the heat coming from the wood fire and leaving little pellets of joy all around the joint.

Molly has over stayed her welcome so farmer Bob leads her and puts her in a paddock with hundreds of other ewes and lambs

‘Holy crap’ mutters Molly ‘it is freaking freezing out here’ Then Molly hangs her head as it begins to rain.

The life of a sheep is sometimes not a whole lot of fun and sunshine.

Molly bleats throughout the day hoping that the farmer will come running and take her back inside to the warmth of the fire.

But when her cries fall on deaf ears Molly trudges to a corner of the paddock and sobs under the dark sky until she falls to sleep.

Molly has survived the first six months of life by the skin of her teeth and everyday she grows bigger and stronger.

She is no longer a lamb shivering in the cold and rain now Molly is now a strong kiwi ewe.

And she is also sporting a fleece of premium quality wool.

Molly eyes the other sheep with contempt as she struts around the paddock like she is best in show.

She thinks that because she was hand raised and has one of the finest fleeces in the flock that she is somehow special.

But she is in for a big shock.

Molly is minding her own business chewing on some grass when she is scared half to death by a dog snapping at her heels.

She doesn’t really know what is happening but being a sheep she just follows the other sheep into a holding pen.

Molly tries to hide at the back of the pen because she has a feeling that something bad is about to happen.

She hears a human approaching and her heart leaps maybe it is that nice farmer that saved her from a certain death and took her into his home?

But she soon realises her mistake and tries to flee but she doesn’t get vey far before she is grabbed and manhandled into a shearing shed.

She is put into a very undignified position by a rough looking shearer who proceeds to cut off her golden fleece.

Two minutes later Molly feels the shearers hand on her rump and with a slap she is pushed down the chute and back out into the sunshine.

Well I say sunshine but we are in New Zealand after all.

What I meant to say is overcast with a constant threat of rain.

But at the moment Molly isn’t interested in my weather reports because she is shivering in the corner of the holding pen feeling all naked and exposed.

She stares up to the shearing and makes a vow to never let herself be shorn ever again.

Molly is back in her paddock recovering from her ordeal when she has the ovine version of a brainwave.

What if she can somehow ruin her fleece and make it unworthy of being removed.

Then she could be warm and mellow all year round.

So in the following months as her fleece begins to grow out she rolls around in the mud picking up all kinds of burrs and thorns plus a good covering of dung.

She now looks and smells like something from a sewerage treatment plant.

So she is confident that when the dog herds her back into the holding pen that she will be left alone.

And sure enough a week later that pesky dog does return and the flock is once more herded into the pen.

Again Molly hangs out at the back and she watches as one by one the other sheep disappear up into the shearing shed until she is the last ewe standing.

‘Well well well what do we have here?’ one of the shearers mutters to his mate’What do you think bro? Maybe we should water blast her to get her wool nice and shiny ready for a clipping’

‘Or we could just shoot her right here and now and cut her into chops or maybe a nice brisket?’

Molly doesn’t know what water blasting or a nice brisket is but it sounds like it would hurt so she rubs herself against the fence and rubs off all the burrs and thorns and after a quick dip in the water through to clean off the crap.

She is once again shoved into the shearing shed and has another hair cut

Molly is wandering around her paddock and she is spitting chips.

Why do the shearers continue to take her woollen overcoat?

Don’t they know that it is fucking freezing out here?

Molly knows that she really shouldn’t say the F word but enough is enough.

Never again will she allow herself to be shorn again.

And this time she means it

Six months later Molly is relaxing in her paddock when she notices a cloud of dust coming from the front gate.

And soon enough the first of the utes arrive ‘Holy crap’ Molly runs around in a panic not nothing what to do when she hears MOO.

Over in the next paddock a herd of cows are standing around doing a whole lot of nothing.

Molly thinks for a second she takes a few steps back then runs as fast as she can and jumps over the fence.

She flies through the air like Steve MacQueen in the Great Escape and lands in the middle of the startled cows.

Molly smiles to herself an hour later when she sees the dog herding the other sheep into the holding pen.

‘Stick that up ya’ Molly says before she joins her new bovine friends as they eat grass and chew on their cud

But the good times don’t last long because early the next morning farmer Bob opens the gate and all the cows follow him toward the milking shed.

Molly knows that she is in deep doo doo and tries to act and look like a cow but she knows that she isn’t fooling anybody especially not farmer Bob who grabs her by the scruff of the neck ‘Come here u devil ewe’

Later in the year Molly once again notices the cloud of dust coming from the front gate ‘Holy fuck it is that time again’

She is sporting a flawless gag free fleece of wool and she doesn’t want to lose it.

She has been exchanging glances with a ram so she wants to be at her best.

What would a randy ram want with a ewe that was nothing but skin and bone?

She knows that if she is to defeat the shearers this time than she will has to come up with a wooly wooly good plan.

She is rubbing her itchy butt against a rusty bale of fencing wire when a cunning plan begins to form.

She nibbles on the rusty wire hoping that her fleece will turn into a good for nothing fleece of steel wool

She continues to chew ‘God I know I need some iron in my diet but this is ridiculous’

And after chewing for an hour her wool turns silver with a few rust flecks.

And not before time because the dog arrivesĀ  and Molly follows the others into the pen.

But she doesn’t stop there she walks up right up the chute’Come on shear me you fuckers’

Two of the best shearers in New Zealand ‘Wazza’ Smith and Bazza; Jones look at each other in astonishment when a weird looking ewe arrives demanding to be shorn

Wazza being the head shearer shakes his head ‘This one is all yours Bazza I am going out for a smoke’

Bazza swears under his breath and grabs hold of Molly and prepares to shear her so he can go have a ciggy with Wazza.

But as soon as the clippers touch the wool a shower of sparks fly in all directions.

A few sparks land on a fleece of wool that is spread out on a nearby table.

At first nothing happens but then the lanolin in the wool catches fire and it soon takes hold .

Bazza and Molly both run for their lives and barely make it before the roof caves in.

And ten minutes later the shearing shed is reduced to nothing but a charred pile of rubble.

Molly survives but she isn’t happy.

She is singed and looks and smells like a forlorn crispy crispy critter.

What ram in his right mind would even look at her?

But then a wet tongue nuzzles her ear and the ram of her dreams is comforting her with tender kisses.

And even though Molly isn’t looking her best at the moment she snuggles up to her ram.

Her life is now complete.

BAA BAA BAA BAA BAA BAA

THE END

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and could you think about making a donation so that i can realize my dream of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

Share this:

  • Share
  • Twitter
  • Facebook

Like this:

Like Loading...

Rag Doll (From Hell)

24 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

evil, rag doll, ragamuffin, wool

It is My young Daughters first Day at Kindergarten.

She is Five Years old and a happy little Girl.

But I am nervous as I wait for Her at the Bus Stop.

I hope that Cindy has had a good Day.

But She can be a little shy.

When the Bus comes to the Stop.

Cindy runs to Me with a Smile on Her Face.

‘Daddy School was so much fun”

‘And I made a special Friend’

That is when I notice the Rag Doll in Her Hand

It is a Ratty little thing.

About Ten Inches tall.

Made from Grey Wool and Cotton.

When I ask Cindy where did the Rag Doll come from.

She just shrugs Her Shoulders and says’I found it in

the Rubbish Bin.

Jesus I can imagine the Germs that ugly little thing is

carrying.

When We get Home it is going straight into the Washing

Machine.

As We walk Home Cindy tells Me that the Dolls Name is

Ragamuffin.

And She is the very best Friend in the World.

As We go inside I tell Cindy that Ragamuffin needs a wash.

So I grab that ugly Ball of Wool.

And that Rag Doll bites Me on the Finger.

I jump back in surprise.

Surely it was just My imagination?

And Cindy yells ‘Daddy stop playing with Ragamuffin’

‘She is Mine not Yours’

That Rag is laying on the Floor

Where I threw it.

And it is looking up at Me.

I am careful as I pick it up.

I go to the Laundry and toss it into the Machine.

Hopefully as the Washer goes through its Cycles

That ugly little Rag Doll will Drown.

When the Machine comes to a stop

I have a look inside.

And Ragamuffin looks like a Drowned Rat.

So I carefully pick it up again

And carry it out to the Clothes Line.

After I peg that thing out to Dry.

I start to walk away when I hear a Voice ‘I am going

to get You for that Motherfucker’

Am I hearing Voices?

I am sure that Ragamuffin just talked to Me.

I go back inside hoping that that little lump of Wool

will Bake in the Sun.

But then I change My Mind.

So I go back outside to the Clothes Line.

Grab Ragamuffin then walk over to the Wizz Bin

And I drop it in.

I feel sad for Cindy.

She has really grown attached to that Evil Doll

But I cant have My little Girl playing with a foul

Mouthed piece of Wool and Cotton.

I know that I have done the right thing

But I still feel rotten.

I go back inside to tell Cindy that Ragamuffin didn’t

survive the Wash.

And that She will need to find a new Best Friend.

I try to look Sad as I go to Cindy’s Room.

I knock on Her Door to deliver the Bad News.

And when I walk in.

There is Cindy playing with Ragamuffin.

What in the fuck.

How did Ragamuffin end up in Cindy’s Room?

I ask Her is everything alright?

Of course Daddy Ragamuffin and I are just playing

with My Tea Set”

‘We are the Best of Friends and We will be together forever”

But I know that this is One Friendship that I will have to sever.

Ragamuffin looks at Me with a smug look on its Face.

Like it is daring Me to make a scene.

It has no Mouth so has is it communicating?

Maybe it has locked onto another foul mouthed Doll named

Chucky

God give Me strength

I should be so lucky.

It is getting late.

And Cindy has fallen asleep on the Lounge.

Tomorrow is another School Day.

No way can I allow that evil lump of Wool to mix with a Bunch

of School Kids.

It would be a Bloody slaughter.

So Ragamuffin will have to disappear

If I am to save My Daughter.

So I carry Cindy off to Bed.

And I leave Ragamuffin laying on the Lounge Room Floor.

After I have read Cindy a Bedtime Story.

I tuck Her in for the Night.

And when I return to the Lounge Room

I get an awful fright.

Ragamuffin has done a runner.

A dangerous Rag Doll is now on the loose.

I look everywhere for that Woollen Ball of menace.

But it has escaped from My household.

I shiver.

But not from the Cold.

I am confident that Ragamuffin is no longer in the House.

So after I check in with Cindy.

I go off to Bed.

But I still have Goosebumps.

I know that I want be getting much Sleep.

Or maybe with One Eye open.

But then I start counting Sheep.

I must be having a Bad Dream.

I am struggling to Breathe.

It feels like My Mouth is full of Wool.

Then I hear a whisper.

‘Die Motherfucker Die”

Then I realise that Ragamuffin is laying on My Mouth

and Nose.

I am being smothered by a Rag Doll.

I start to fight back.

And I land some heavy blows.

But Ragamuffin is hanging on for grim Death.

Then I get a bit of a grip.

And a piece of Wool comes loose.

So I pull and pull and Ragamuffin begins to unravel.

And before long a pile of Wool is laying on the Floor.

So I scoop it all up.

And I carry that Evil Wool out to My Backyard.

Then I go to the Garden Shed.

And I grab Myself a Spade.

Then I dig a hole three feet deep.

And for that ugly evil pile of Wool.

It is tailor made.

In the Morning Cindy rushes out of Her Bedroom.

She cant find Ragamuffin anywhere.

I tell Her that maybe Ragamuffin is hiding under Her Bed.

Or is already waiting for Her on the School Bus.

So She better hurry and get ready for School.

I don’t dare tell Her the truth.

Or Her little Heart might crush.

I walk Cindy to the Bus Stop.

She is still fretting over Ragamuffin.

I Kiss Her Goodbye.

And She climbs on board the Bus.

Then I hear a squeal.

A squeal of delight.

And as the School Bus pulls away.

I see Cindy running towards the back of the Bus.

She stands at the rear Window smiling and waving

at Me.

Then She holds up something.

And I cant believe My Eyes.

It is that ugly evil lump of Wool

Ragamuffin.

Giving Me a wicked grin.

OK Ragamuffin so You want a fight?

You might of won round one

But bring on round two.

Part Two coming soon.

Rag Doll ( Back from the Grave)

THE END

Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories now if you have the means could you please make a donation so i can achieve my goal and become a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.

Share this:

  • Share
  • Twitter
  • Facebook

Like this:

Like Loading...

Subscribe

  • Entries (RSS)
  • Comments (RSS)

Archives

  • January 2023
  • September 2022
  • June 2022
  • May 2022
  • January 2022
  • September 2021
  • August 2021
  • May 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • December 2020
  • October 2020
  • August 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014

Categories

  • poems
  • stories
  • Uncategorized

Meta

  • Register
  • Log in

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Follow Following
    • stevenjohnstonblog
    • Join 69 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • stevenjohnstonblog
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
%d bloggers like this: