Bonnie and Bertram
by J. B. Dunn
"None of them were quite like he was..."
Her name was Bonnie Blackwell, she was just five years old and her family lived on a great big farm in Kansas. Her father had built her and her sister Betty a tree house in the oak tree in their backyard, right next to the barn. Bonnie, Betty and their father would play together in the tree house on breezy afternoons when the sun shone through the puffy clouds and they would decide what each cloud looked like until the sun went down.
Everybody called Bonnie "Little Bo Peep" because she would play with sheep when they grazed in the pasture and come outside to watch as they were herded into the barn to go to sleep. She had them all counted off and knew them by name. There were exactly one hundred and thirty-seven, inclusively. She had a favourite, the runt of the litter who she called Bertram.
She'd grown quite attached to little Bertram because of his big, shining eyes and his soft, pleasant face. He was a shy little sheep and she liked to run through the pasture with him when she wasn't deciding with her father and sister what the clouds looked like. He was more of a pet than a farm animal, and she would say to him, "I wish all the other sheep were just like you."
Now her father, Mr. Benjamin Blackwell, ran a remarkably efficient farm. He milked the cows and sheared the sheep and shot the horses without hesitation when they broke their legs. The house, which was kept by Mrs. Bellemine Blackwell, was always spotless, all except for the playroom, which was almost always littered with puzzle pieces and games and stuffed animals.
One warm day in July, Mr. Blackwell was shearing the sheep. Bonnie and Betty were in the tree house and they could hear the snip,snip of the shears and bleating coming from the barn.
"I wonder what he's doing to them," said Bonnie, concerned.
"That cloud looks like a motorcycle," said Betty, paying no attention to her sister whatsoever.
"That one looks like Bertram. I wonder where he is," said Little Bo, looking up into the clouds. She heard the bleating of a sheep outside and leapt up to the tree house window. Her father was bringing Bertram to be sheared.
"No!" she cried, and climbed down the tree as fast as her little feet could carry her. "Daddy, stop! Don't do that to Bertram!" She burst into the barn, startling her father. He dropped little Bertram, who ran straight past her and away into the field.
"Bonnie! Now see what you've done," scolded Mr. Blackwell, but Bonnie was already after Bertram. Bonnie and Mr. Blackwell had to work together, but they caught the wee thing and brought him back.
"We won't do anything with him until tomorrow; he's got to calm down. In the meantime, you steer clear of that barn young lady. Now get on inside and help your mother." Away the little girl scurried, shocked and shaking.
That night, Bonnie lay awake, wondering what her father meant about doing something to Bertram. She knew her father was doing something with all of the sheep in the barn, but she didn't know what it was. She wished that all the sheep would be as witty and quick as Bertram was.
Next day, Mr. Blackwell was going out to the barn, and Bonnie ran up to the tree house and watched as he grabbed Bertram to go shear him. Again he ran away and Bonnie ran to help her father go and catch him in the field. She liked that none of the others were quite like he was, witty and quick to run from shearing.
"This one really doesn't want to be shorn," said he.
"Dad, what is shorn?" asked Bonnie.
Mr. Blackwell took Bonnie into the barn and showed her the shears.
"See those?"
"Yes."
"I have to cut their wool off and sell it."
"But you can't because Bertram likes his wool. He needs it to live in the winter."
"It'll grow back, Bonnie," he explained.
"But Bertram doesn't want to be shorn. Didn't you see him run away? He doesn't like it when you do that."
"But I have to. You'll see – he'll be just fine."
That night, Bonnie watched as all the sheep were herded into the barn to go to sleep. She always watched to see that her special one was always safe and sound.
Mr. Blackwell went out to the barn to finish the shearing the next morning. Bonnie and her sister were watching the clouds from the tree house and deciding which ones looked like animals and which ones looked like people. Little Bo heard the bleating of her Bertram. She heard the snip, snip of the shears and bolted to the barn. She knew Bertram didn't want to be shorn.
She hurled herself through the door and screamed, "Stop!"
Mr. Blackwell was startled out of his wits and he jolted, yelping.
"Goodness, Bo, you scared me! Why would you – "
"Daddy, you can't shear Bertram, he doesn't want to be snipped!" she pleaded.
"But Bo, he has to – "
As he said this he looked down, and as he did so did Bonnie. Poor little Bertram was face-first in the hay and the hay was being slowly covered with blood. The shears had slipped against poor Bertram.
Bonnie was at his side in a flash as she burst into tears. She was holding the little sheep's body as his head hung from his neck. "None of the other sheep are like you, Bertram," she was crying.
Mr. Blackwell took her out of the barn and washed her up. She was so sad that she could barely get out of bed for two days except to go to the bathroom. She couldn't bear the fact that all those other sheep were going on grazing in the field and Bertram wasn't. None of them were like he was.
That night, Little Bo Peep got up from her bed, put on a sweater and her slippers and crept out to the barn. It was her turn to take the shears to the sheep.
"None of you are like my Bertram," she whispered.
As the sun rose that morning, Mr. Blackwell opened the barn door.
Little Bo Peep had just finished with the last of them.
She turned to her father, shears in hand, eyes ablaze and red handed and said,
"Now all of them are just like Bertram."