martinsmithstories

Image credit: @icongenic at http://www.freepik.com

On a desolate, elevated plateau bordered by perpetual snow and shadowed by the precipices of the Peruvian Andes, a flock of four sheep grazed in windswept silence.

The tallest sheep raised his head and said, ‘Father, I am unhappy.’

The heaviest sheep paused grazing and said, ‘Why is that, first-born?’

‘Because I’m so woolly, Father. My fleece is a manky, knotted mess.’

‘If you weren’t woolly, first-born, you could not ward off the bitter cold sweeping down from the great mountains.’

The young ram pondered his father’s reply, released a sceptical bleat and returned to his grazing.

After a short time the young ram raised his head again and said, ‘Father, I am unhappy.’

‘What now?’ the elder ram said.

‘It’s my hoofed feet, Father. They ache all the time. Not only that, they are battered and chipped.’

‘If you didn’t have hoofed feet, you could not ramble about the great mountains. Now hush, first-born, and finish your meal. And remember, it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.’

The young ram again pondered his father’s reply, released a more sceptical bleat and returned to his grazing.

After a longer period of windswept silence, the young ram paused and raised his head and swallowed and said, ‘Father, I am still unhappy.’

‘By the holy horns of the mystic mountain mouflons, won’t you give an old ram a moment’s peace? I swear you’ll give me a stomach ulcer.’

‘I’m sorry, Father, but I must tell you that I am unhappy about my neck being so much longer than those of the rest of the flock. Why is that so?’

And the elder ram said, ‘That’s because, believe it or not, you’re a llama. An L-L-A-M-A. Blame your mother. She’s the one who had a clandestine affair with a camel. Now shut up and eat.’ And the old ram glowered at a plump ewe, who blushed as she paid particular watery-eyed attention to a clump of grass before her.

Quietude returned to the plateau as the flock continued to graze, and the young stud (who until then had thought he was a young ram) chewed and pondered his mother’s infidelity.

After a much longer silence, the young llama raised his head. His sister, grazing by his side, paused, looked up and gave him a sheepish grin.

With a perplexed look, the young llama gave a polite bleat. Having attracted the old ram’s attention, he said, ‘Stepfather, have I told you what I’m most unhappy about?’

‘Off with you! Now! I’ll not endure another second of your incessant bleating!’

‘But … but … Stepfather … I have this prominent hole through my head. Why is that so?’

‘Why? Because you are the silliest, emptiest-headed, most annoying ungulate to have ever hoofed upon the Andean plateaus. You’re a freak of nature, a genetic mutant. Happy now? Yes? Then bugger off and go stand by the goat path while the rest of us finish our main course in peace. And for goodness’ sake, keep whatever wits remaining in that hollow head of yours about you and look out for pumas and poachers.’

A tad miffed by the old ram’s grumpiness, the young llama wandered over to the side of the path and stood next to an arrowed sign that read Felicidad and raised his long neck and stood sentinel whilst the flock grazed. The cold snow bit at his ankles. His prominent teeth chattered. A gloom of despair weighed upon his heart. And the Andean wind swept down and whistled through the hole through his head.

When the flock finished their main course, they ambled towards the young llama, for on the other side of the path lay fresh pasture ideal for dessert. Eager to get his dessert, the young llama stepped upon the path to Felicidad.

A flash of light caught the young llama’s left eye, and he turned his head as a bang sounded, but, alas, he was too slow, for a bullet discharged from a poacher’s rifle sped towards his head, yet it whooshed through the hole through his head and struck his half-sister, who died with neither a farewell bleat nor the sheepish smile wiped from her face.

Another flash of light came from the young llama’s right. He turned his head as another bang sounded, but this time he was certainly too slow, for a second bullet sped towards his head, yet it, too, surged through the hole through his head and struck his mother, whose final thought was a yearning for the concupiscent camel she shagged at a carpet conference in Cairo many years ago.

The young llama had no time to mourn the loss of two loved ones nor his escalating unhappiness, for a third flash of light, brighter than the first two, came from his left, followed by a louder bang, and as he turned his head left and closed his eyes and awaited his fate, a bullet whistled through the hole through his head and struck his stepfather, who died without dessert.

Shaking all over, the young llama opened his eyes and saw three men approach with their rifles raised.

But a poacher’s bullet would not determine the young llama’s fate, for the poachers surrounded him and marvelled at how such a creature could be untouched by three bullets. The men knew this was no ordinary animal; no, this was a blessed brute, a sacred stud. And they dropped to their knees and paid homage to the holiest of beasts.

The young llama was escorted to Dharamshala, India, where he was enthroned as His Holiness the Umpteenth Dalai Llama, and zealous devotees near and far revered him. Accompanied by a fleece stylist and a pedicurist, the young llama travelled the world on one endless junket, flying first class on aeroplanes, sleeping in five-star hotels and dining at luxurious restaurants. He pontificated to rulers and rock stars and appeared on talk shows and at book signings and espoused platitudes to the multitudes. And whenever anyone saw the holy him, whether in the media or in the flesh, they would observe two features: his holey head and the huge grin on his face, for he was the happiest llama in the world.

Moral: When stepping upon the Path to Happiness, those who look left, then right, and then left again, survive and thrive.