Stick stopped just short of the last climb to give Em a rest, jumped down, took off his hat, and reached for his handkerchief. Out of the wind the sun had turned fierce, and he knew wiping his brow didn’t buy much time. He crouched down, took a long draw from one of the canteens, and was giving Weezer a belly rub when the dog spotted three sheep straying over to where the scarp got steep. Those rocks were no problem for big horns, but fool lambs would fall and get themselves killed. Weezer sprang into action and covered the ground in just a few barks. The sheep did some loud complaining when their heels got nipped, but they fell in with the herd as instructed and started nosing around for what little there was to eat. His work done, Weezer returned straight away, plopped back down and rolled over with a paw in the air, demanding Stick continue the rub exactly where he’d left off.
© 2024 Eric Stromquist
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