Farmer, Old MacDonald, was a great fan of the An Unsuitable Job for a Ruminant series, by international bestselling author, Aries the sheep. When he learnt of the author’s guest appearance in the social networking game Sheep Pennsville, he broke into piggybank and bought a ticket for the event.
Old MacDonald arrived in good time, joining many others by the stage where Aries was due to read from his memoirs – Sheepish. The stage was empty other than for a podium, on which rested a copy of Sheepish, and a trellis table piled high with the author’s other books.
To Old MacDonald’s surprise, a young man suddenly ran past him, his trousers ablaze.
"Who on earth was that?" Old MacDonald asked a passing post man.
"Oh, that's just Liar Liar," the post man replied, hurrying over to a barn door to ring the bell twice.
Aries was grimacing when he scampered on stage on all fours. He raised himself up on his back legs and leaned against the podium. Although the crowd gave him a standing ovation, Old MacDonald was shocked by the animal’s appearance. Not only was his fleece matted and far too long (Mutton dressed as lamb, thought the old farmer. Needs a good sheer!) but the sheep was out of breath and heavily perspiring.
"I'm a dreadful sight, and don't I know it," Aries said. "I was chased by a couple of sheepdogs. Would have caught me too. Couldn't get any further. Two closed doors blocked my way, guarded by a pair of foxes. That's all me needs, I thought. Pair of foxes! I stopped by one. Which door to escape? I asked. The fox pointed at the door furthest from me. I looked at the other fellow and said, Which door to escape? That fox pointed at the door nearest to me. It was the old – one always lies, one always tells the truth, trick. I opened the door nearest to me and jumped through it. The hounds followed. I jumped out again, slammed the behind me, and took the other door. Predators – they're all the same!" he said, rolling his eyes. He picked up Sheepish and waved it at the audience.
"Hysterically entertaining! Breathtaking! Exotic! Astonishing recall – sensational! A wonderful, observational, literary feast. Shakespearean! Heroic. Epic! Amazing. Delightful!
That's just a sample of the honest reviews for Sheepish. All damned lies. I'm a simple soul who writes for other simple souls. I grew up in Ourl Ayr in Scotland. We were poor. We only had the grass under our feet, in the sky over our heads. My father expired at the age of ten and a half, leaving me and my brothers and sisters to be raised by mum and her twenty-four sisters.
It was a happy and secure lamb-hood, until the day my mum left me. I last saw her climbing up a ramp into a lorry. The farmer was also there. I asked where she was going. My aunts told me mum was running away to join a herd of mountain goats, something she'd always wanted to do, they said. She was living the dream!
Ma’s decision inspired me. I wanted to run away like mum had. After months of hesitation – Can I do it? – I did. I ran away. I spent some much needed time alone, eventually writing The Sheep Dog's Bollocks, based on my experiences. The rest is literary history.
Let me tell you a bit more. I like to explore pastures new. I walked here all the way from my tax haven in Baahrain, with just the wool on my back. I’m a Reiki Master, skilled in extraordinary healing. This said, someone managed to pull the wool over my eyes the other day. I saw a stall selling lucky dip tickets. 'Everyone’s a winner!' it proclaimed. I bought a couple of tickets from the stallholder. "You've lost," she said bluntly. "But your sign says Everyone’s a winner!" "Everyone’s a winner," she replied. "But your tickets are numbered two and three, so you've lost." "You lie so!" I bleated. He gave a rueful head shake. "Well, on her conscience be it! I deviate." He removed his jacket to reveal a T-shirt with the words – History's Cleverest and Bravest Line-Up.
"I can announce that – History's Cleverest and Bravest Line-Up, is the title of my forthcoming book."
The audience clapped. "To launch it, my publishers and I are throwing a party starring characters from my book. It starts in a few minutes, and you're all invited." He pulled open a curtain beside him. This revealed a door under a neon sign – Entrance: Heroes/Fiesta.
Aries threw open the door. "This way please, ladies and gentlemen," he said.
"Stop!" Old Macdonald shouted. "Don't go through that door. He's not Aries the author. He's not even a sheep. He’s a wolf in sheep's clothing!"
"Nonsense – he’s as gentle as the lamb," were the last words spoken by a little piggy, as Aries threw off his woolly disguise and became the big bad Wolf.
Epilogue
Our story cuts to the drawing room of a large mansion in the countryside, where a butler serves sherry from a silver tray to people dressed in outfits from the 1930s. Old MacDonald is also there. As farmers have dressed the same since time immemorial, he doesn't stand out.
"How did you see through his disguise, Old Macdonald?" asked a gentlewoman, looking up from the bridge table.
"I'm not really old MacDonald. Nor have I ever had a farm. I’m really Jane Hetherington, a real fictional private detective," Jane Hetherington said, throwing off her old MacDonald Avatar. "At the end of a long day sleuthing, I enjoy nothing better than a bit of virtual reality."
"But how did you see through his disguise, woman?" a moustached man by the billiard table, asked.
Jane took out her notebook. "There were many clues. The grimace he wore when he ran on stage, was an involuntary lip curl at the sight of a postman.
His home, Ourl Ayr, doesn't appear on Google maps. What he really said was – ' I grew up in our lair in Scotland.' These narcissistic personality types love playing mind games.
Look again at his book reviews. The first letters spell: He Bears A Wolf’s Head.
He said his father expired aged ten and a half. But did you spot the word Rex in that sentence?
He described coming upon two locked doors, guarded by foxes, and thinking – ‘That's all me needs. Pair of foxes!’ Did he mean for his lunch?
He shared with us his indecision at leaving his flock. Can I do it? – a sentence which contains the term Canid. He told us of spending time alone, as though a proverbial lone wolf.
He mentioned walking here. Wolves enjoy walking, covering large distances, sheep don't. He made a big deal of being a Reiki Master, skilled in extraordinary healing. A master of reconnaissance, skilled in territory stealing, more like. The couple of sheepdogs who chased him? Rival wolves chasing him out of their territory.
The lucky dip tale gives us a chilling insight into the fate of those who cross him. Did he really say – "You lie so!" – or "You die – foe!" Study carefully the words at the end of that tale – "Well on her conscience be it! I deviate." I ate well on her, is hidden away in there.
A boastful creature, he couldn't help but tell us how he sees himself when he announced the title of his next novel – History's Cleverest and Bravest Line-Up. The last word also spells lupine. Our friend considers himself, History's Cleverest and Bravest Lupine.
The penny finally dropped when I saw the words over the door were an anagram of: Enter Here So I Can Feast. He was the wolf at the door.
"Bravo," the others cried.
"Sherry ma'am?" the butler said, offering Jane a drink.
"Thank you," she replied, helping herself to a small glass.
Note from author.
Apologies to all wolves out there for the sweeping anti-wolf generalisations contained in this blog. I know wolves aren't really the bloodthirsty creatures of folklore, but are highly intelligent, rather shy, pack orientated animals, who, at weekends, play English professional football for the city of Wolverhampton.
Nina Jon is the author of the Jane Hetherington's Adventures in Detection crime and mystery series, about private detective Jane Hetherington available from all Amazon sites (e-book & paperback).
To read inside or link through:
https://www.amazon.com/author/ninajonbooks
http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B007N33HUC
Old MacDonald arrived in good time, joining many others by the stage where Aries was due to read from his memoirs – Sheepish. The stage was empty other than for a podium, on which rested a copy of Sheepish, and a trellis table piled high with the author’s other books.
To Old MacDonald’s surprise, a young man suddenly ran past him, his trousers ablaze.
"Who on earth was that?" Old MacDonald asked a passing post man.
"Oh, that's just Liar Liar," the post man replied, hurrying over to a barn door to ring the bell twice.
Aries was grimacing when he scampered on stage on all fours. He raised himself up on his back legs and leaned against the podium. Although the crowd gave him a standing ovation, Old MacDonald was shocked by the animal’s appearance. Not only was his fleece matted and far too long (Mutton dressed as lamb, thought the old farmer. Needs a good sheer!) but the sheep was out of breath and heavily perspiring.
"I'm a dreadful sight, and don't I know it," Aries said. "I was chased by a couple of sheepdogs. Would have caught me too. Couldn't get any further. Two closed doors blocked my way, guarded by a pair of foxes. That's all me needs, I thought. Pair of foxes! I stopped by one. Which door to escape? I asked. The fox pointed at the door furthest from me. I looked at the other fellow and said, Which door to escape? That fox pointed at the door nearest to me. It was the old – one always lies, one always tells the truth, trick. I opened the door nearest to me and jumped through it. The hounds followed. I jumped out again, slammed the behind me, and took the other door. Predators – they're all the same!" he said, rolling his eyes. He picked up Sheepish and waved it at the audience.
"Hysterically entertaining! Breathtaking! Exotic! Astonishing recall – sensational! A wonderful, observational, literary feast. Shakespearean! Heroic. Epic! Amazing. Delightful!
That's just a sample of the honest reviews for Sheepish. All damned lies. I'm a simple soul who writes for other simple souls. I grew up in Ourl Ayr in Scotland. We were poor. We only had the grass under our feet, in the sky over our heads. My father expired at the age of ten and a half, leaving me and my brothers and sisters to be raised by mum and her twenty-four sisters.
It was a happy and secure lamb-hood, until the day my mum left me. I last saw her climbing up a ramp into a lorry. The farmer was also there. I asked where she was going. My aunts told me mum was running away to join a herd of mountain goats, something she'd always wanted to do, they said. She was living the dream!
Ma’s decision inspired me. I wanted to run away like mum had. After months of hesitation – Can I do it? – I did. I ran away. I spent some much needed time alone, eventually writing The Sheep Dog's Bollocks, based on my experiences. The rest is literary history.
Let me tell you a bit more. I like to explore pastures new. I walked here all the way from my tax haven in Baahrain, with just the wool on my back. I’m a Reiki Master, skilled in extraordinary healing. This said, someone managed to pull the wool over my eyes the other day. I saw a stall selling lucky dip tickets. 'Everyone’s a winner!' it proclaimed. I bought a couple of tickets from the stallholder. "You've lost," she said bluntly. "But your sign says Everyone’s a winner!" "Everyone’s a winner," she replied. "But your tickets are numbered two and three, so you've lost." "You lie so!" I bleated. He gave a rueful head shake. "Well, on her conscience be it! I deviate." He removed his jacket to reveal a T-shirt with the words – History's Cleverest and Bravest Line-Up.
"I can announce that – History's Cleverest and Bravest Line-Up, is the title of my forthcoming book."
The audience clapped. "To launch it, my publishers and I are throwing a party starring characters from my book. It starts in a few minutes, and you're all invited." He pulled open a curtain beside him. This revealed a door under a neon sign – Entrance: Heroes/Fiesta.
Aries threw open the door. "This way please, ladies and gentlemen," he said.
"Stop!" Old Macdonald shouted. "Don't go through that door. He's not Aries the author. He's not even a sheep. He’s a wolf in sheep's clothing!"
"Nonsense – he’s as gentle as the lamb," were the last words spoken by a little piggy, as Aries threw off his woolly disguise and became the big bad Wolf.
Epilogue
Our story cuts to the drawing room of a large mansion in the countryside, where a butler serves sherry from a silver tray to people dressed in outfits from the 1930s. Old MacDonald is also there. As farmers have dressed the same since time immemorial, he doesn't stand out.
"How did you see through his disguise, Old Macdonald?" asked a gentlewoman, looking up from the bridge table.
"I'm not really old MacDonald. Nor have I ever had a farm. I’m really Jane Hetherington, a real fictional private detective," Jane Hetherington said, throwing off her old MacDonald Avatar. "At the end of a long day sleuthing, I enjoy nothing better than a bit of virtual reality."
"But how did you see through his disguise, woman?" a moustached man by the billiard table, asked.
Jane took out her notebook. "There were many clues. The grimace he wore when he ran on stage, was an involuntary lip curl at the sight of a postman.
His home, Ourl Ayr, doesn't appear on Google maps. What he really said was – ' I grew up in our lair in Scotland.' These narcissistic personality types love playing mind games.
Look again at his book reviews. The first letters spell: He Bears A Wolf’s Head.
He said his father expired aged ten and a half. But did you spot the word Rex in that sentence?
He described coming upon two locked doors, guarded by foxes, and thinking – ‘That's all me needs. Pair of foxes!’ Did he mean for his lunch?
He shared with us his indecision at leaving his flock. Can I do it? – a sentence which contains the term Canid. He told us of spending time alone, as though a proverbial lone wolf.
He mentioned walking here. Wolves enjoy walking, covering large distances, sheep don't. He made a big deal of being a Reiki Master, skilled in extraordinary healing. A master of reconnaissance, skilled in territory stealing, more like. The couple of sheepdogs who chased him? Rival wolves chasing him out of their territory.
The lucky dip tale gives us a chilling insight into the fate of those who cross him. Did he really say – "You lie so!" – or "You die – foe!" Study carefully the words at the end of that tale – "Well on her conscience be it! I deviate." I ate well on her, is hidden away in there.
A boastful creature, he couldn't help but tell us how he sees himself when he announced the title of his next novel – History's Cleverest and Bravest Line-Up. The last word also spells lupine. Our friend considers himself, History's Cleverest and Bravest Lupine.
The penny finally dropped when I saw the words over the door were an anagram of: Enter Here So I Can Feast. He was the wolf at the door.
"Bravo," the others cried.
"Sherry ma'am?" the butler said, offering Jane a drink.
"Thank you," she replied, helping herself to a small glass.
Note from author.
Apologies to all wolves out there for the sweeping anti-wolf generalisations contained in this blog. I know wolves aren't really the bloodthirsty creatures of folklore, but are highly intelligent, rather shy, pack orientated animals, who, at weekends, play English professional football for the city of Wolverhampton.
Nina Jon is the author of the Jane Hetherington's Adventures in Detection crime and mystery series, about private detective Jane Hetherington available from all Amazon sites (e-book & paperback).
To read inside or link through:
https://www.amazon.com/author/ninajonbooks
http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B007N33HUC