The Back-Story on Mary's Little Lamb

I wrote this story as a contest entry to win tickets to the Atlanta premiere of a Broadway show. The theme was to write the 'back story' of a famous literary piece, nursery rhyme or fairy tale in 1000 words or less. I didn't win, but it was a lot of fun writing it.

The Tale of Fergus, Mary’s Little Lamb

Fergus was different. While others his age were content to stay close to their mothers, Fergus would be roaming about, trying to find things to learn. Fergus loved nothing more than to learn new things. The problem was, Fergus was a sheep. And sheep, Fergus was told, were supposed to be dumb.

Mary Finnegan was a sweet girl with a love for all of nature. Her family raised sheep, and Mary named each lamb as it was born. She had seen many sheep in her eight years, but none as special as Fergus. Whenever she read her books out by the lamb pen in the afternoons after school, Fergus was the only one who appeared interested, often cocking his head from side-to-side as she read each page.

“I really think he understands me, Mama”, Mary said as she helped her mother set the table for dinner. “It’s like he knows what I’m saying. Fergus is smart.”

“Nonsense, Mary. Now go wash up for supper.”

Mary wondered…what if Fergus could understand what she was reading to him? “I’ll just bet he’s the smartest lamb in all of Ireland”, she said as she sat down to dinner.

At school the next day, Mary raised her hand while her teacher was erasing the math lesson from the board. “Mrs. O’Brien?”

“Yes, Mary?” Mrs. O’Brien replied. She thought Mary was a sweet girl, but asked an awful lot of silly questions. She braced herself for whatever happened to be on Mary’s mind today, mindful of last week’s discussion of toadstools, and whether or not a toad could actually sit on one.

“I was wondering…”, Mary began.

Mrs. O’Brien resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes Mary, what is it?”

“Umm…do you think…I mean, is it possible…” Mary couldn’t figure out how to ask what she so desperately wanted to know.

“Well, what is it?” Mrs. O’Brien said impatiently, as ripples of suppressed laughter began to roll through the class.

“Is it possible for lambs to read and understand books the way we do?” Mary said, breathlessly.

The class erupted into laughter as Mrs. O’Brien rolled her eyes, this time not fighting the temptation.

“Why that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard”, Mrs. O’Brien said. “Whatever gave you such an idea?” The class was still snickering, but Mrs. O’Brien did nothing to quiet them.

Mary looked around nervously. “Well, I..I have this lamb. His name is Fergus and he’s really smart, you see. I like to read to all the lambs on our farm. I read them books so they won’t be bored in their pen, and none of them pay any attention, none of them except for Fergus. He likes books. He even likes it when I read to him from my history book.”

Just then, the afternoon bell rang and the children filed out of the classroom. Mrs. O’Brien busied herself at her desk as Mary walked slowly out the door. Undeterred by the reaction her question provoked, Mary decided she would just have to figure things out for herself.

That night after dinner, Mary went down to the barn with a few of her books, looking for Fergus. Most of the lambs were nibbling on grass around the fence posts, but Fergus was over in the corner of the pen, looking curiously at the writing on a bag of feed.

“Fergus! Come over here!”, yelled Mary. Fergus dutifully trotted over and sat in front of Mary.

Mary pulled out the first book, Baa Baa, Black Sheep and began reading. Fergus was fascinated with hearing a story about sheep. He had never seen a black sheep before, and wondered why the people in the story were asking this sheep for his wool. Could the black sheep remove his own wool? Fergus had seen the older sheep being sheared on the farm, and as far as he knew, it required some sort of buzzing device to remove the wool. It did not look like a pleasant process, and it left the sheep looking quite embarrassed.

“Three bags of wool?”, Fergus thought, as he looked at his short slick coat. “That must be a pretty big sheep”.

Fergus would let out a little bleat every time Mary turned the page, just to show his interest, as well as his sympathy for the self-shearing sheep in the story. While he was quite grateful that Mary was taking the time to read to him, he hoped her other books had more plausible plotlines.

After the sheep book, Mary also read Fergus some stories about a talking egg that died by falling off a wall, and two clumsy children who were sent to fetch water. Fergus wondered if all the human stories were so far-fetched, and wondered if Mary would consider reading him the words on the side of the feed bag.

Mary had finished all the story books she had brought to read, and she thought Fergus seemed bored, because he started to eat some of the pages.

“What’s the matter, Fergus?”, she asked. Fergus had started nosing through the pile of books and was pawing at Mary’s history book.

“History? You want me to read to you from the History book?”, Mary laughed. “Why that’s the most boring book ever. But…if that’s what you want…”

Starting with The Battle of the Boyne in 1690, Mary read to Fergus about some of the significant events in Irish history. Mary began to yawn profusely, but Fergus was riveted.

Fergus decided that if he was going to learn, he’d have to go to school, just like Mary. His little tail fluttered at the thought of hearing more and more stories about Ireland, about numbers, and maybe even about animals.

He decided he would follow Mary to school the next day. All night long, he lay awake in his pen, thinking about how all the children would welcome him into their school, and he’d be the first lamb in Ireland to get an education.

Ode to Dysthymia

An ebb

A flow

A high

A low

Equalized by a serotonin reuptake inhibitor.

Buzzard Irony: A Minor Lesson In Perspective

Lest you think my blog is all about birds, given my last entry about the pigeon and now this one about a buzzard...it's just a coincidence. Really.

The other day, I was taking a walk in a wooded area near my house, enjoying the spring weather. I had my trusty walk companion with me, as always. No, not a dog...my iPod. The song I was listening to at the time was "Straighten Up and Fly Right", an old swing tune that was composed by Nat King Cole. I like the positive message it conveyed, so it got added to my playlist. I was walking along the path, listening to the lyrics:

"A buzzard took monkey for a ride in the air
The monkey thought that everything was on the square
The buzzard tried to throw the monkey off his back...”

And just then, what do you suppose swooped across the path in front of me? A buzzard. I kid you not...a real-live honest-to-grossness buzzard. I mean, what are the chances of one of these nasty animals flying in front of you ANYTIME, much less when you're listening to a song that mentions buzzards? Freaky.

Turns out there was a deer carcass nearby, and apparently I'd stumbled upon the early bird special. I couldn't get over watching this creepy bird sitting on a limb waiting for me to either die or leave so he could finish his venison entree. I opted for the latter, and finished my walk on a different path.

I'm a sucker for irony, so I relished the moment of one of the best coincidences I'd had in quite awhile. And in order to derive some deeper meaning from the experience, I thought about how I had been enjoying the beauty of the spring day and the morning sun until something really hideous appeared. Pondering on it a bit longer, I thought that this was a good lesson in perspective. How many times do I let something bad take center stage on a day that's really going quite well otherwise? In other words, do I let minor negative things outshine the overtly positive? It's all a matter of perspective.

I also learned it doesn't hurt to walk fast and glance backward every now and then.

The Parable of the Pigeon

Those who know me are aware that I can't pass a Starbuck's or a Chick-Fil-A without stopping to indulge in their addictive-as-heroin delicacies. I guess it's the Southerner in me that can't resist good coffee or fried chicken. And who would want to?

Today, when satsifying a craving for Chick-Fil-A's bite-size hashbrowns, the server told me she was giving me an extra box of them for free since it was the end of their breakfast service. Lucky me! Extra potatoes on St. Patrick's Day! I guess I have the luck of the one-eighth Irish after all.

Savoring my good fortune (and hash browns), I was determined to "pay it forward" and continue the benevolence as I saw a pigeon pecking at the cracks in the sidewalk. Before I got within range to toss him a free breakfast, he flew away. Little did he know that he missed a feast fit for a bird because his fear got the best of him.

I had to wonder...how many times do we miss out on a blessing because of our fear or because we're just to busy to notice? In other words, when opportunity calls, am I on the other line? Taking a lesson from the pigeon, I resolved to keep my head up and eyes open, ready for whatever heavenly hand-out comes my way.