Goat herders come in many forms. Those that are rough, throwing ewe, corralling them is stabled din. Others controlling them afar, through metallic fences, cold, unloving souls. This is the story of one goatherder.
He wasn’t born of them, rather a life he choose was an exterior to a yellow road. He supposed that if everyone came across two roads, most would take the one that looked less traveled. His first ewe wandered stumbling into his arms, stepping from the platform to meet his fortune. It fascinated him so. It would be nine years more until he’d raise his own flock.
The first three sister and their two brothers were born from Lee lot-04.07 and purchased with a small piece of farm land. He sought after them, guiding them from the falling creeks and treaturious ledges with a long genital shove from his curled shepperd’s hook.
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