A Compilation Of Short Stories

Sheepdog

Trigger Warning(s): Blood, Broken Bones

Rocky ran through the open fields of his home, the tall grass brushing up against his long, black-and-white fur as he ran. A multitude of white sheep ran away from him, their hoofsteps and calls echoing in the air. The sheep had been out grazing in the fields all day, just like they did every summer day. And at dusk, just like every summer day, it was Rocky's job to keep the sheep in a herd until they returned to the barn.

The border collie trotted alongside the sheep, ensuring that not a single one got away. The barn came into sight in the distance, and drew closer and closer until the herd reached the rugged wooden building. The sheep filed into the metal gates around the barn. Rocky laid down next to the fence and watched the sheep wander aimlessly while Carlos, the farmer and Rocky’s owner, counted them.

The air slowly cooled as the sun set over the horizon. Rocky had almost fallen asleep in the grass when he heard Carlos yell angrily from inside the barn. Rocky stood up, trotted through the open barn door, and went up to Carlos to see what the commotion was about.

“Oh, I must have counted them three times now,” Carlos mumbled in frustration. Rocky sat down next to Carlos and looked up at the man with a curious expression. The man’s face was only partially visible in the dim, lantern-lit barn light, but his feelings were evident.

Carlos looked down at Rocky with concern. “I think one of the sheep ran off. I need you to go and find it Rocky,” he told the dog. Rocky cocked his head at the farmer, then stood up and ran back out the barn doors. Carlos followed him. Rocky sniffed through the fields around the wooded border of the farm, looking for any signs of the stray sheep. Eventually he found a trail of hoofprints that led away from the farmland and into the woods. “Go find it,” Carlos told Rocky.

Rocky promptly jumped from the open fields and into the forest. The ground was cold and full of underbrush that had been growing there for centuries. The hoof tracks were easily recognizable in the dry dirt. Rocky followed the trail until the tracks disappeared in the mud of a riverbank, and continued to follow the scent trail after that. Rocky followed the sheep’s scent until he heard the sheep’s call. He found it grazing in a patch of grass next to the river. It stood there nonchalantly, not a care in the world.

Rocky sniffed the air for other animals as he snuck through the tall grass toward the sheep. He crept to the edge of the clearing and lept at the sheep. It let out a loud cry as it began to run away from the collie. Rocky chased the sheep through the foliage. It was noticeably harder to keep track of an animal in the thick, night forest as opposed to an open, daylit field. But Rocky could easily follow the calls and the bright white wool of the sheep. He chased it down the riverbank, mud coating his paws and wind blowing against his fur. Finally, the sheep turned and ran away from the river, in what Rocky believed was the direction toward the barn.

Eventually the forest opened into another clearing. Through the foliage, Rocky could only see the sheep disappear, then heard it call in distress. Rocky slowed and walked into the open clearing. He stopped just in time to find a small cliff, maybe one and a half feet in height, that started at the edge of the clearing. And at the bottom of the cliff was the sheep Rocky had been chasing. It called in distress and pain in the grass below.

Rocky’s sides heaved as he carefully crept down the side of the cliff to the sheep. It was sitting on its side, three of its legs tucked under it while the fourth was left sticking out. The fourth leg stuck out at a weird angle and had a large gash on it. A small patch of red stained the sheep’s wool and another coated the grass around it. Rocky sniffed the sheep’s leg, which flinched in agony and smelled of blood. Rocky only had one choice now. The sheep was injured and he had to get help.

Rocky stumbled back up the side of the cliff and followed the riverbank back the way he had come all the way to the farm. His legs hurt and his sides heaved, but he couldn’t stop until he got back to the farm. He ran out of the woods and to Carlos, who was standing outside the barn waiting for Rocky’s return.

“What is it boy? Where’s the sheep?” Carlos asked Rocky as the dog stopped in front of the man. Rocky panted for a few seconds, then nudged Carlos’ side, gesturing to the farmer to follow.

“What is it?” Carlos asked again in confusion. Rocky grabbed the man’s sleeve and pulled him towards the forest. “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Carlos finally told Rocky. He walked into the barn to grab a lantern, then returned to Rocky.

The man followed the dog through the woods, down the river bank and to the cliff. Rocky stopped at the edge of the cliff to ensure that Carlos did not fall down it.

“Oh no!” Carlos uttered shocked as he looked down at the sheep. The sheep now laid on its side and unconscious; it appeared as if there was more blood on the grass than before. Carlos inched down the cliff to the sheep. He crouched next to it, set his lantern on the ground, took out a handkerchief from his pocket, and tied it in a knot around the sheep’s broken leg. He picked up the sheep and carefully stumbled up the hillside to the top of the cliff. Rocky grabbed the handle of the lantern in his teeth and followed the man, carefully walking so he didn’t trip from the extra weight.

Carlos slowly walked back to the barn, the injured sheep in his arms and his boots covered in mud from the riverbank. Rocky followed at Carlos’s heels, not leaving his owner’s side. The dog panted, tired out from the long night and hard running. Carlos stepped out of the woodline and into the fields that hosted the farm. The moonlight flooded the open field, making it much brighter than it had been in the forest. Carlos carefully opened the metal gate of the sheep pen and set the sheep inside, then closed the gate again. The other sheep were all fast asleep, some of them in the barn but most of them out in the grass. Rocky gingerly sat the lantern on the ground before sitting down himself.

A small whine left Rocky’s throat because of the sheep’s condition. As the only herding dog on the farm, it was Rocky’s job to keep all the sheep safe. But seeing one hurt made him feel horrible. Carlos noticed the whines, so he crouched next to Rocky.

“It’s okay boy,” he said, “You did your best. I’m going to call the vet, so the sheep will be fine.” The man put his hand on Rocky’s head, petting the dog’s long black fur. Rocky jumped up excitedly at his owner’s forgiveness.

Carlos walked past the barn to the farmhouse, a moderately-sized two-story building with a white exterior, a large wooden porch, and multiple windows. It was dark inside because of the absence of turned on lights. Carlos walked up the porch steps and opened the house’s front door, leaving it open for Rocky to go through. Rocky walked through the door into the kitchen, a small space with just enough room for the stove, refrigerator, and sink that it held, along with some counter space. However, Rocky took an immediate turn into the living room, only a small doorway separating the two rooms. The living room was larger, with a loveseat size couch at one wall and a small television atop an entertainment stand on the opposite side of the room. A small coffee table was in front of the loveseat, and Rocky’s bed sat in the corner next to the couch. Rocky walked around the coffee table to his bed. He spun around multiple times, then laid down on the pillow. The last thing Rocky saw was Carlos turn the kitchen light on, then everything went dark and Rocky drifted off to calming sleep.