ovine
[oh-vahyn, oh-vin]
1. pertaining to, of the nature of, or like sheep.
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“Oh
hello there, Mabel.”
“Good
afternoon, Flo.”
“Did
you do something different today? You
look…”
“Don’t
pretend Flo. You know what happened.”
“A
haircut?”
“A
haircut. I hate getting my haircut. I really do.
And I look hideous.”
“Oh,
don’t be like that. You look fine. It’s not even that bad.”
“Yes it
is. It’s horrid, and you know it. I spent all year growing it out after the
last cut, and that horrid barber just goes and gets rid of it all. He didn’t even listen to what I thought about
it all.”
“He
never does, does he?”
“And
what’s worse is that he didn’t even ask if I wanted a haircut. He just went and started cutting.”
“Terrible. Such an inconsiderate fellow. Why, just yesterday, I saw him saving
everything off Rose’s little boy, Ben.”
“How
terrible. What did the boy say?”
“He
whined while it was happening, but once it was done he just ran around like
nothing happened. You know how the
little ones are.”
“I do
indeed. You know, I’ve always wondered
something.”
“What’s
that, Mabel?”
“Why do
you think he does it?”
“Who,
the barber?”
“Yes. Every year he goes around cutting every bit
of hair off us, without ever asking what we want. No words, no questions, he just cuts and cuts
and cuts until there’s almost nothing left.”
“Oh,
and how he just takes it all away, never to be seen again?”
“Exactly. No point at all.”
“Well,
you do have to admit, it is quite a bit cooler without all the hair in the hot
months, and that’s when he cuts all the hair off.”
“I
suppose that’s true. But is that really
why? I mean, he can’t be doing it just to
help us keep cool, can he?”
“Well,
can you think of a better reason? I
mean, it’s not like he can use our hair for anything else, right?”
“That
is true. But it’s still quite rude, you
know. He could at least ask us how much
to take off first.”
“Oh,
you know he never talks. He just makes
those strange sounds from time to time.”
“And
that’s another thing. Why doesn’t he
talk? I’ve tried striking up a
conversation with him since I was a little one myself, but he never
replies. In fact, he acts like I don’t
even exist until he cuts my hair. Such a
rude person. The worst, I swear.”
“Oh, I
know. He pays more attention to those
horrid beasts than he does to us. What’s
so great about them anyway? All they do is run around screaming their lungs off
and chasing us around. I can’t even move
two steps away from the others without one of those things chasing me around.”
“I
understand perfectly. Why, just the
other day two of them tried to attack me, just because I went looking for a
sunnier place to eat. Can you believe
them?”
“The
nerve.”
“I don’t
know who’s worse; the barber or his beasts.”
“The
beasts, definitely the beasts. The barber
at least seems to be okay with wherever we go unless he needs to cut our hair. Otherwise he just minds his own business.”
“I
suppose that’s true. He is still quite
rude though.”
“Of
course, of course. Oh, speaking of
which, here he comes. I think it’s my
turn for a haircut now.”
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Be honest, can you tell who these two ladies are? The word is a big hint.
Sheep. They're sheep. A pair of ewes to be precise. You could probably tell, what with the word and all. But would you be able to figure it out without that hint? I wonder....
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