Are you a blue sheep or a red sheep?
Blowing across the land, I stopped to listen to groups of sheep, discussing which of them made the better mutton chops. They were the old guard and they argued trying to convince each other that the blue made better legs of lamb and were sought after by more people than the red. The red argued that they had less fat and therefore made the healthier meal.
The arguments blew back and forth, while the young blue and red lambs gamboled amongst them, bleating and playing enjoying life. One stopped to ask his elder
Doesn't that mean we have to die and get chopped up to prove who is right and that must be painful?
The older sheep said that is the way for sheep.
But surely we are more important than our bodies?
The young one insisted. Is there not some higher purpose? Should we not be looking for that instead of arguing over the fat content of our bodies?
The older red and blue sheep both bleated, you really don't understand about life. Run away and play. That is what lambs do.
The lambs obeyed, gamboling away with all the joy of the young, unfettered by the chains of the older sheep.
The red and blue sheep herds lined up again each pitting their wit to convince each that pound for pound, they were the superior taste. The blue said that he had overheard the master say that wool from blue sheep kept the cold out better than the red sheep's wool. The red argued that their coats were more waterproof.
A pack of grey wolves swept over the hill top, killing the older sheep as they stood almost immobile, trying desperately to convince the other sheep that they were the best for the slaughterhouse.
The young lambs ran away bleating in terror, managing to go straight through the barbed wire fences that a moment ago had seemed so impenetrable. They ran until they were far away in the open country side.
One lamb bleated what were those terrible things that had killed the older sheep.
One said they were wolves.
Another said they were our masters.
Another asked were they not the same thing?