I grew up on a small farm nestled just above the valley, in the shadow of a thickly wooded mountain. On the farm, there were the usual chickens, pigs, goats, sheep. It was more or less idyllic.
One day following the Michaelmas feast, my father came back from town after having sold some of the lambs and some of the pigs. My father was never quite the same after that. I couldn’t put my finger on what had changed when he left or when he came back, but he was definitely slightly different. Not better, not worse, just different.
The following year, when we got the new batch of piglets and ewes to raise, something unusual started to happen. The animals were going missing. They were being taken right from their pens. My father insisted that it was a wolf.
Our first line of defense was to get a dog. I can’t remember what kind of dog it was. It wasn’t a purpose-bred guard dog or shepherd’s dog. It was just a kind of mixed dog. The dog did a good enough job of surveying and walking around. And I definitely enjoyed playing with the dog. But within three or four weeks of getting the dog, animals still went missing from their pens.
My father was quite frustrated that the animals kept going missing. This was now eating into our livelihood. What good is a shepherd with no sheep? So he commenced to set a trap for the wolf. He took one of the spring lambs, tied it to a tree on the outskirt of the farm, and left it overnight. The dog would be there, and surely when the wolf came to take the lamb, the dog would bark, and my father would go out with his shotgun and finally, for once and for all, kill the wolf.
The following day, we went. The dog was there. The rope was there. The lamb was gone. Not a sound had been made. The wolf imperceptibly came in the night and silently took the spring lamb.
The following night, my father said that he would take another spring lamb, tie it to the tree, and sit with the dog and the shotgun. The following morning, I went out. I found my father asleep. I found the dog wandering around. The rope was there, but the spring lamb, once again, was missing. Once again, the wolf had come in the night and managed to evade my father and his shotgun.
On the third night, my father wanted to set another trap. This time, he took a spring lamb and the dog, tied them both to a tree, tied himself to a perch in the tree with his shotgun, somewhat precariously, so that he would not be able to sleep easily, hoping that by being able to avoid the soporific effect of the nighttime air, offsetting it with the slight danger of being dangling in a tree, it would help him to spot the wolf and finally kill the wolf.
The following day, I went to the tree, found my father awake, found the dog tied to the tree, and found the lamb missing. My father was in tears. He said he could not see or hear the wolf come and take the lamb, and he felt helpless that the wolf would have his way with our farm, and that there was nothing that he could do to stop him. But he vowed on the fourth day to set another trap. This time, he tied the dog to the tree, the lamb to the tree, and he tied himself to the lamb with his shotgun.
This time, I decided to set a trap. Instead of walking home, I walked in a circle around and took a position on a hill just outside where he could see me, but I could see the tree, the dog, and the lamb. I waited all night and didn’t really hear any noise. I watched as the stars and the moon passed overhead from one edge of the horizon created by the treetops to the other.
And then, just as the moon was about to pass out of sight over the treetops, seemingly dissolving into the trees, I heard rustling. I heard the dog moving, I heard the lamb bleating, and I heard motion. And I looked, and I saw my father cutting the lamb loose, setting it free.
“But Father, why are you doing this?” I called out.
“Son, it isn’t me. It’s the wolf in me. This wolf is destined to destroy our farm and our family.”
“But Father, what are we to do? How are we to live?”
At which point my father took the shotgun, put the barrels under his chin, and pulled the trigger.
The end.