We
all knew to be on the lookout for the wolf in sheep’s clothing, a nice pair of
khaki slacks and a polo shirt that one sheep used to wear to impress dates, but
none of us knew to also be wary about the coyote in a clown-suit roaming the
meadow.
We
all thought it was a regular clown.
“Great,
a clown,” we sarcastically remarked when we saw him.
Someone
said that clowns scare them, because it’s a conversational shorthand for “the
inevitability of death frightens me and I need a connection, however fleeting,
to survive the day,” and sometimes we need a little help keeping the wolf from
the door.
Now
coyotes are natural mischief-makers but the coyote in a clown-suit, he was
something else. He was spotted going through the bins, which should have tipped
us off about him being a coyote, but immediately he started transforming
rubbish into poodles and giraffes for the lambs and kids, so we let it go.
“Clowns
scare the willies outta me,” I muttered. “That’s called Coulrophobia,” said a
well-dressed sheep with a wolfish grin sidling up to me, “Say that’s a fine
wool suit, how’s about I buy you a drink?”
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