Shearing Day
The day started like many others. Phyllis awoke with a yawn, the sun warming her wool, the birds’ gentle song bringing her out of a dream. It had been a good one; she had been roaming free in a meadow, high in the mountains. Wild flowers spread as far as the eye could see; a cool breeze rustled the grass as the herd munched on it, not a pony or dog in sight. She yawned again and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before stretching her hooves into the air and rolling off her back, pushing herself to a standing position.
Some of the others had already awoken and were complaining in their native bleats as they waited for their overlords to let them out of the communal cell. Despite the serene morning, unease buzzed in the air like a hornet, putting all it came near on edge. There were whispers that some of the others had plans to make a break for the forest. Phyllis wished she was that brave. The monster that the tyrants called Winona was docile to those who obeyed their rules, but the canine did not hesitate to show any that stepped out of line who was in charge.
It was not an easy life, being raised under the rule of ponies, but it was one Phyllis was forced to accept. It wasn’t long before the orange one arrived to look over the herd. Trailing behind the pony was the monster. “Woo-ee! Ain’t you missies ready fer a shearin’?” she said in her drawl.
Some of the sheep responded in their native tongue, “baa’s” filling the air, but none replied to the pony in her language. Those that knew it also knew it would be ignored. The orange one pulled open the gate. “Go on, out to pasture with you,” she said.
The sheep stood there, within the pen. Every day they went through this; them staring at the beast as it sat by the overlord, its tongue lolled out of its mouth, saliva dripping to the ground. In all honesty, the herd was too afraid to step out of the pen unless the beast was in the act of telling them to. Sure the tyrant was in charge, but it was her monster that doled out the punishment, and charging by it as it waited for them outside the gate was not something any of the sheep relished the idea of.
“Winona, get ‘em to pasture,” the tyrant commanded, and the monster sprang forward.
The moment the canine was in the pen the sheep were in motion, flooding through the gate, each doing their best to flee the beast lest they suffer its wrath. In their hurry, Phyllis only caught a glimpse of the smaller pony, but she heard the orange one’s words.
“Applebloom, help Winona with the herd. Me an’ Big Mac’ll get the barn ready fer the shearin’,” she told the small one.
“I’m on it, Applejack!”
Phyllis took a fleeting glance back at the menacing red structure and shuddered. It was only a matter of time before they would be cowering in its shadow, waiting to be bound and sheared.
***
The day was warm and the grass was sweet. She had learned to appreciate the simple things in life. Phyllis beamed as she spotted a dandelion in the grass and bent down, plucking it from the ground between her teeth, savoring the taste. As time went on, it felt as if it could be possible that the overlords had forgotten about their task. Perhaps this could be the day they forgot the shearing.
A whistle echoed from back toward the compound, causing her to jump and forcing her ears to lay back. In truth, it always felt like they could have forgotten. They never did, and now it was time. The other sheep knew what was coming as well, and they began spreading out and milling around, bleating loudly. That was when Phyllis saw the small group break away from the rest, running at full speed.
Three sheep, it looked like Jackie, Jeanie and Georgette, were making a break for it. “Winona!” called the yellow pony. It made no sense to Phyllis; there was nowhere to go in the pasture. They would still be trapped here, even if they evaded the monster.
“Dang it!” The exclamation brought Phyllis’ eyes from the trio that was now being closely pursued by the beast to the pony. Another small group of sheep had broken away from the herd and was making a mad dash in the opposite direction of the other group. The little pony laid chase, but her short legs made it hard for her to keep pace.
That must be their plan, she thought. Divide the overlord’s attentions so one of the groups could escape. They know a way through the fence! The realization made her want nothing more than to join them, but fear kept her hooves rooted firmly in place.
“Winona!” the little pony called again, and the beast changed targets. That was all the motivation the Jay triplets needed to resume their escape plan. They turned, freed of their pursuer, and continued their mad dash for the fence, froth forming at their mouths as they pushed their limits. As for the other group, with the canine’s help, the small pony brought the would-be escapees back to the other sheep, where they huddled, waiting for the worst, trying to shrink into the bulk of the herd.
Again, she wished she had the nerve to try to flee. Of course, she feared what the beast might do to her, but more than that she feared what the ponies had convinced them waited on the outside. According to their overlords, Death hid in the forests beyond the fences. She shuddered at the thought.
“Dag nab it,” muttered the yellow one. She was looking off to the distance, to where three sheep ran from the fence toward the forest. “Let’s get the rest of ‘em back ta the barn, Winona. Applejack won’t be happy ta hear that three of ‘em got out.”
The beast barked and licked her chops before her jaw fell back open, her tongue lolling back out as she panted, eager to carry out the small tyrant’s orders. It circled around the herd next to the little pony before they set the sheep in motion toward the object of their horror. A shiver had run up Phyllis’s spine at the sound of the canine’s voice, and her eyes warily followed the beast. Their two guards kept a close eye on the herd for their journey. Any hoof that could be deemed out of line was met with a nip at the heel, followed quickly by a bleat of pain or terror. They were not going to allow another sheep to escape today.
Phyllis felt lucky she was in the middle of the herd, and worked hard to stay there. She did not relish the beast’s and overlord’s ire and wished to avoid it at any cost. It wasn’t long before they saw the red building ahead. The herd’s nervousness could be felt throughout the mass of animals as pleas were made in their native, warbling tongue. As usual, they fell on deaf ears and they were driven forward, ever closer to the barn and the narrows.
She hated it in the narrows. There was no comfort from the herd. They were forced to stand single file, always moving forward. Slowly, they were herded into the fences that made up the dreaded location which would lead them into the depths of the red monstrosity. Phyllis was near the back and she heard the gate slam into place as the last sheep was moved in. There was no turning back now; no escaping what was coming. Time ebbed on, and slowly the sheep before her were marched into the massive red building until, finally, she stood before the door, next to be brought into its belly. Her eyes traced the walls upward; the sheer size of the building was terrifying. She had only ever seen the shearing rooms; she wasn’t certain she wanted to see anything else in there.
It was here that time seemed to stop and Phyllis was left with only the thoughts in her head, a familiar feeling of dread building in her stomach. Eventually the door in front of her lifted and a gaping black hole opened before her. She didn’t move. She resolved herself, as she always did, to hold her ground. Don’t. Move, she told herself, standing stock still.
It was not long before the small yellow pony came with a cane. She stuck it between the fence rails behind Phyllis and pressed her forward. “Move it on in, sheep!” she said, around the cane in her mouth.
The seemingly innocent enthusiasm in the small pony’s voice mocked the sheep, and, combined with the pressure from behind, her will dissolved. As always… she thought drearily to herself, stumbling forward into the black maw of the building. Behind her, the door snapped shut and she blinked in the dimly-lit alley. She could hear one of the others crying and then a door slammed, closing off the sound. Another cane pushed at her from behind and she squeezed her eyes closed as she moved forward.
The instrument vanished as suddenly as it had appeared and a gate was dropped into place with a loud bang, causing her to jump. She was trapped in a cell now. It was time. The overlord stepped out of the shadows with a rope in her mouth. Phyllis quivered in fear as the pony approached.
The rope whipped out and caught her around the neck, cinching tightly. In the blink of an eye, she was on her side and the pony snaked the rope around three of her legs rolling her onto her back.
“Boy howdy, ah think ah’m gettin’ faster!” the overlord exclaimed.
Phyllis stared up at her. “Why-y-y-y?” she asked, as she did every time she was tied down, her voice quavering with a thick accent.
As always, her question was ignored and the familiar buzzing sound began. She couldn’t understand why they did this; to shame them perhaps. The ponies were never sheared. Not even the cows received such treatment. Phyllis suspected the ponies wanted the sheep to know they were not their equals.
As the shaving went on, she kept her eyes closed and did not struggle. She knew better by now. A lifetime had taught her that struggling against the shears earned cuts. It will be over soon, she thought to herself, a tear escaping her eye.
“Applejack?” It was a voice that Phyllis had never heard before, and its arrival caused the buzzing of the shears to stop. Her eyes crept open and she snuck a peek at the newcomer; a white pony with a perfectly coiffed mane.
“Oh, hey Rarity,” said Phyllis’s tormentor.
“It smells just awful in here! The wool won’t smell like this when you bring it to me, will it?” asked the newcomer.
The overlord sighed. “No, Rarity.”
“Good. I came to see how it was coming along. I’m eager to start my new fall fashion line! Wool scarves and cloaks! Ooo, can’t you just see it?”
They use our coats to decorate their own? The thought of it was shocking. Who would do such a thing? Maybe they did want to show superiority.
“No. But if you let me get back to work, ah’m sure you’ll show me soon enough.”
“Oh, Applejack,” the white pony laughed. “I’ll await the wagon eagerly at the boutique!”
The shears clicked on and the familiar buzz began again. Phyllis clamped her eyes closed, returning to her rigid state. “Fussbucket,” she heard the tyrant mutter, before putting the clippers back to the sheep’s wool.
Finally the ordeal was over. Phyllis was released from her bonds and pushed through the door at the back of the cell. “Git!” said the overlord with a slap on the sheep’s rump. At the end of a tunnel the sunlight was pouring in and Phyllis raced toward it, kicking her hind legs as she cleared the walls of the hellish red building into open air. She was met by the watchful eyes of the beast and calmed down, turning quickly toward the communal cell. The monster stood and followed, ensuring she would make it to her destination.
The big red pony stood next to the gate with the small yellow one. They watched her as she approached and the big one opened the gate when she neared, closing it again when she was inside. Those that had already been sheared huddled inside, waiting for the remaining sheep to arrive.
“It’s a shame those three got out today,” Phyllis overheard the small pony say.
“Eeyup,” replied her counterpart. He never did say much in the sheep’s hearing.
“If we don’t find ‘em by tomorrow morning, the timber wolves will likely get ‘em.”
“Eeyup.”
“Have to fix that fence before we put ‘em out to pasture again.”
“Eeyup.”
They opened the gate to let another sheep come rushing in.
Phyllis turned away from the ponies. She knew better than to believe them, but the mental images still came. The ponies wanted to destroy their hope and used fear to those ends. It worked.
While the sheep feared the canine greatly, the ponies spoke of death outside the compound. No sheep that had been outside had ever returned, and that only served to fuel the fire of fear that the ponies started. Deep down, she hoped the ponies might capture even one of the Jay triplets. At least then they could know what was outside the fences of the compound.
The Jay triplets are free, she thought. They have managed to do what the rest of us can only dream of.
Phyllis rejoined the herd as they huddled together, shamed by their nakedness. She wanted to tell them what the overlords were actually doing, though she doubted any of the others would believe her.
“I have something to say,” she baa’ed over the din, but her voice was lost in the noise.
“I have something to say!” she repeated, louder this time. A quiet began to spread over the herd. “I heard the overlords speaking. They use our wool to decorate their own coats!”
The others stared at her, a couple of their mouths agape. “Why?” asked one of the voices from the herd. Others chorused in, echoing the same question.
Phyllis had no real answer, just her own assumptions. “I can only think it’s to further our shame… to keep us docile. To show they are our betters.”
This caused more murmurs. It was obvious few believed her. It didn’t matter. Today’s events had helped steel her nerves. “I will find my freedom,” she bleated under her breath. From this day forward, she would do whatever it took to join the Jay triplets in their freedom.
***
Applejack finished wrapping the last of the wool and headed outside to retrieve her siblings. Big Macintosh stood by the gate looking into the sheep pen. Applebloom had climbed up the fence to peer over the top. Winona sat between them, tail wagging in the dust as she panted.
“What’s goin’ on, you two?” she asked as she approached.
“Applejack, why do you think they look so upset?” asked her little sister.
Applejack reared up and put her front hooves on the top of the fence, looking in. It was true; the sheep did look upset. She shrugged, looking to her sister. “They always get riled around shearin’ time.”
“Wonder why. I mean, shearin’ don’t hurt ‘em. It keeps their wool from gettin’ shaggy an’ tangled!”
“Dunno, sis. Ah jus’ don’t know.”
They stood there a while, just watching the sheep mill about and complain in their baa’s. After a while she snapped out of it.
“Come on, you two,” she said, pushing off the fence and turning toward the barn. “Big Mac, take Winona and see if you can find those sheep tha’ got through the fence. Me an’ Applebloom need ta get tha’ wool cleaned. If it’s anything less than snow white, Rarity will have a fit when it arrives.”
The three shared a chuckle, Winona punctuating it with a bark, and headed off toward their tasks.