2413. Flock
© Bruce Goodman 30 April 2022

Klaus was a farmer in Austria. Every autumn he would move his flock of sheep down from the mountains where they had been grazing over summer. It was always a task he dreaded because part of the way down to winter shelter involved taking his two hundred or so sheep along a public road. Not that the road was busy, but he nonetheless got his wife and children to help – someone at the front, someone at the back, someone at the side – to warn any approaching vehicles that a flock of sheep was “just around the corner”.

The worst bit was the intersection. It was a crossroads with four roads heading north, south, east, and west. He had to get his flock of sheep to turn left. After that it was easy-peasy.

All went well until he reached the crossroads. The sheep were calm, and the kindly driver of a large, old truck had stopped at the intersection to let the sheep pass. It would be foolish not to presume that the sheep had right-of-way.

The sheep had just arrived at the very cross of the crossroads. They were about to turn left. That was when the truck back-fired.

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