“ .”
That was until two weeks ago. Then it was more like: “What the–?” Why? One word. Sheep.
That’s right. Sheep. As in the kind that block quaint countryside roads in the movie The Quiet Man and all other Irish-y type films, of which I can’t get enough of.
Sheep?
At first, when I spotted the alleged flock, I thought my medications needed adjusting, or my retinas had finally come detached. They were on the green rooftop of the Silver City Town Homes. At least, that's what I thought I saw. The proof would be the next day, when I had to drive across the viaduct in the opposite direction. Would they still be there? And if they weren’t? Bi-i-i-g trouble.
I turned north off of National. Slowly. Cautiously. Slightly veering off into the other lane – to the driver of that SUV? I'm sorry.
And, there they were. In the same positions they had been in the day before. How did they do that? I'm no sheep expert, so I surmised that their lack of wandering meant they had enough to graze on, with the green roof and all, only made that much greener by their sheep poo.
Who was in charge of watering them? Making sure they didn’t plummet to a plushy death? I assumed that someone in the Town Homes did double duty as a shepherd. Did they have to get a special permit? Livestock within the City limits? What about predators? And in the spring . . . lambs?
So, I asked one of my co-horts involved in all things neighborhood.
“So . . . I saw the sheep!” I said.
“Aren’t they great?” she said.
“They are!” I said. “But, how–? Who–?”
“Oh, they’re not real!” she said.
Yeah, I knew that.
