Let’s get one thing straight, under no circumstances did Mary have me. I would never initiate a physical relationship with a human. But, much like my cell-mate Georgie Porgie, I have urges. As my court appearance is coming up next week, I thought I’d take this chance to tell my side of the story.

I’m currently living in the heel of the shoe that the Old Woman converted into a halfway house for troubled men and animals. My fleece is matted and resembles yellow snow in both colour and smell. Life in here is so baa-aad, yesterday I sucked off the cow that jumped over the moon in exchange for a few blades of grass.

I met Mary when I was two weeks old and she had just turned twenty-one. The media makes it out like she was in kindergarten, but we’re talking about a tall, busty college senior in a green bonnet that screams “follow me.” Our relationship—scratch that—friendship started when her sorority hired a petting zoo for a charity fundraiser. After being fed hay all day by her hot friends, Mary asked me what I wanted to eat and we ended up getting beers and fries at Old Mother Hubbard’s bar.

We chatted about Babe paving the way for three dimensional portrayals of sheep in Hollywood and very quickly I felt comfortable telling her about my life’s goal of being involved in scientific research on cloning. Weeks passed, and soon everywhere that Mary went, I was sure to go. We even had this inside joke where she’d text me late at night with the message “ONE…” and I’d know that she was having trouble sleeping. She could always count on me.

But, a few months into our friendship, as my horns started to grow, so did my attraction for Mary. At first I decided to innocently follow her on Instagram. Then, one night after a few too many drinks at Hubbard’s, I followed her home in my station wagon.

All the girls were going with the frat guys to some jazz club where Little Boy Blue was blowing his horn. This was my chance to make a big romantic gesture. Female humans love that shit! As I chewed up a bouquet of roses, I thought about all the signs that pointed towards Mary being attracted to these juicy legs of lamb. She would compliment my wool after I’d been to the shearers, and would always find excuses to touch me even when I wasn’t working a shift at the petting zoo. And one time she got drunk at Jack and Jill’s joint birthday party and suggested that she, Little Miss Muffet and I have a threesome.

Holding the petals in my mouth, I headed to her front door. My hooves can’t operate doorknobs so I aimed my body toward an open window. Due to my poor depth perception, I smashed my head right through the adjacent glass.

I started spitting the flowers onto her duvet but one of the twenty-four blackbirds she’d rescued saw me and threatened to scream. So I ate it. Then, standing on her bed, my horn got caught on on the ceiling fan and I spun around and around until the whole thing came crashing down and I was knocked out cold.

When I came to, a police officer was standing over me, Mary was crying in the corner holding a handful of feathers and I heard someone mutter something about an abattoir.

So here I am, mutton dressed as criminal, all because of a woman. I didn’t mean her any harm, I was just a sheep very much blinded by love and the fact that I literally can't see beyond my own nose. Should I die in the SHU of this shoe, I’d like it to be on the record that in keeping with family tradition, I wish for my chops to be given to Keens Steakhouse and my wool to the Ugg company.

And Mary, if you’re reading this, yes sir, yes sir, you’ll be sorry you turned down the opportunity to have three bags full of me.


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