The Good Shepherd

This morning at church they talked about the Good Shepherd and how he cares for his sheep. That particular gospel annoys me a bit because it talks about how the paid worker would run if a wolf came and let the sheep scatter and probably be eaten and I am a kind of paid worker and I would never run and leave my little lambs to a wolf, metaphorically or otherwise, but that’s beside the point. It got me thinking about a story I wrote a while ago. When I was a kid sheep used to come to our hills by the hundreds for a few weeks or maybe months, I’m not sure. But every year at the same time of year they’d show up. Part of the story is about that, so I’m going to post the story over the next few days for your enjoyment.

It’s called: LEGACY

He roams the tinder-dry hills in search of food. Even here the air is searing. The pungent smell of smoldering desert grass permeates his nostrils. Is it the fire or just the heat of the season? The flames, fanned by those wretched winds devoured all they could, then died. The taste of smoke, seasoned the lizard that was his only meal in two days. How long has he been wandering? When was it he fled familiar territory? He did not know. He knows only hunger, loneliness and fear. Rabbits are abundant in this little valley, but without the support of his family, catching them is difficult. Why had he alone escaped the inferno to end up here in this land of unattainable plenty? He was not the alpha nor was he the best hunter. How was it, the blaze claimed all in his pack, leaving him to wander alone in this land of scrub oak, dry grass and impossible to catch rabbits?

           

“Joe!” the foreman screams, “Get that shit poured so we can get out of here. My kid’s got a game tonight.”  

            It’s Friday. The last of the foundations for the new houses are almost complete. Soon this row of concrete slabs will be a neighborhood. Families will replace the multitude of jackrabbits and reptiles that inhabit this land. Joe can almost hear the sound of children laughing and smell the Sunday afternoon bar-b-q. Widowed and childless, this is the legacy of his mundane life. The families who will live here may never know his name but a part of him will always be here.

While the strange intruders disrupt the landscape, he continues his search for food. He finds nourishment from occasional road kill of rabbit or squirrel.  Cars speeding by on roads which earlier had been open land are all that keep him from starvation. But the small animals are learning and he is hungry. The smell of sandwiches and cookies linger in the air long after the men are gone. When his hunger grows stronger than his fear, he investigates. Their absence gives him a boldness he wishes was real. These men have taken the hard ground that used to be a place of reptiles and rabbits and transformed it into an even harder ground, impenetrable by the former inhabitance. Nosing through their unfinished work, he finds only meager scraps. The soft mud-like consistency confuses him. He returns to the loneliness of the hills.

 “Shit! Should we redo it?” Joe asks the foreman upon discovery of the hardened canine footprints in the slab Monday morning.

“Why; whose gonna see it? Come on we’re behind schedule. Let’s get the walls up so we can get the flooring finished before anyone else knows.”

Sunday – Exercise – Not today

• Breakfast – An orange, Cheesy eggs and 1 cup of oolong tea with honey.
• AM Snack – had a late breakfast
• Lunch – bowl of refried beans and rice and a rice and veggie stuffed grape leaf
• PM Snack – a couple of sweet pea pods
• Dinner – ½ a Amy’s Vegan Pizza.