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Back in September of 2008, I wrote a column about my friend Mona and her reaction to some sheep that had been kept in a caged truck bed during a winter storm. The truck driver who was transporting the sheep had stopped for a slice of pizza, and had left his cargo outside as they were pelted with ice and snow, while he enjoyed a quick bite and a hot cup of coffee. To his mind they were only sheep, on the way to the slaughterhouse and not to be worried over.
Mona felt differently. She watched out of the corner of her eye while she went about cutting, coloring or blow drying her customers’ hair. She watched and watched as the wind grew stronger and the snow flakes got thicker, blanketing the animals and making them baaaa all the louder. She felt so bad for the little sheep, and finally, called him at the pizza shop to give him a piece of her mind.
She relayed her conversation to me, crying about the sense of defenselessness she felt for them, and the loss of compassion exhibited by the driver. After we talked a few moments, I asked her if she really was upset about the sheep, or was it a symptom of something else.
“Is it really about the sheep?” I had asked her, and ended the column with “...to be continued” because I knew it wasn’t.
Mona soon realized her tearful reaction to their imprisonment was really a call to her own heart, a part of her life that was imprisoned. The story wasn’t so much about the poor sheep as it was Mona’s reaction to them and their predicament. She herself had felt trapped in a situation and didn’t see a way out of it. In Mona’s eyes, she had become the sheep. She was weeping for herself, and for the injustices of life we all experience at times in one way or another.
Mona didn’t realize this until someone pointed it out to her. It really wasn’t about the sheep.
My friend is still in the midst of unlocking the cage that holds her, and, unlike the unfortunate sheep, has saved herself from a destructive situation.
Many of the readers of this story wanted to know what happened next. I can’t tell you that, because it isn’t over. Some readers thought the story was really addressing the idea of slaughtering animals or the mistreatment of pets. Although I ache at the sight of mistreatment of animals, I do not liken it to be the same as preparing them for consumption. I do believe they are also a food source.
Mona is a work in progress, as we all are. We all have our own destiny, as did the sheep. None of us gets out of this world without touching the lives of another. Let us always be open to those whose cries for help manifest themselves in ways we would never imagine; to be aware of desperation in the eyes of those we think we know the best. I hope I am able to report someday that Mona is happy and healthy, having made the decision to loosen the grip she had on herself in her own makeshift prison.
Mona didn’t need to save the sheep; they were fulfilling their destiny.
What she has done, however, is save herself.
Mona felt differently. She watched out of the corner of her eye while she went about cutting, coloring or blow drying her customers’ hair. She watched and watched as the wind grew stronger and the snow flakes got thicker, blanketing the animals and making them baaaa all the louder. She felt so bad for the little sheep, and finally, called him at the pizza shop to give him a piece of her mind.
She relayed her conversation to me, crying about the sense of defenselessness she felt for them, and the loss of compassion exhibited by the driver. After we talked a few moments, I asked her if she really was upset about the sheep, or was it a symptom of something else.
“Is it really about the sheep?” I had asked her, and ended the column with “...to be continued” because I knew it wasn’t.
Mona soon realized her tearful reaction to their imprisonment was really a call to her own heart, a part of her life that was imprisoned. The story wasn’t so much about the poor sheep as it was Mona’s reaction to them and their predicament. She herself had felt trapped in a situation and didn’t see a way out of it. In Mona’s eyes, she had become the sheep. She was weeping for herself, and for the injustices of life we all experience at times in one way or another.
Mona didn’t realize this until someone pointed it out to her. It really wasn’t about the sheep.
My friend is still in the midst of unlocking the cage that holds her, and, unlike the unfortunate sheep, has saved herself from a destructive situation.
Many of the readers of this story wanted to know what happened next. I can’t tell you that, because it isn’t over. Some readers thought the story was really addressing the idea of slaughtering animals or the mistreatment of pets. Although I ache at the sight of mistreatment of animals, I do not liken it to be the same as preparing them for consumption. I do believe they are also a food source.
Mona is a work in progress, as we all are. We all have our own destiny, as did the sheep. None of us gets out of this world without touching the lives of another. Let us always be open to those whose cries for help manifest themselves in ways we would never imagine; to be aware of desperation in the eyes of those we think we know the best. I hope I am able to report someday that Mona is happy and healthy, having made the decision to loosen the grip she had on herself in her own makeshift prison.
Mona didn’t need to save the sheep; they were fulfilling their destiny.
What she has done, however, is save herself.
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