Well I came across more of these vinettes, so figured I would update the fic too. Once more, pure fluff and silliness, and sadly did not have the benifit of my brother's weapontry knowledge...

Staff Weapons: weapons that are used to effectively kill your opponent. Warning: these are dangerous and should be treated as such. (Note: these items are not to be traded or treated as real staffs on any world. No matter what the natives say it looks like.)

Mitchell squinted. Surely he had to be wrong, his eyes deceiving him. He glanced toward Teal'c and the two raised an eyebrow. Ok, so maybe he was not too far off. He gave a chuckle; these negotiations would be great. Daniel and Sam were already betting how long it would take before a few select members of SG-21 would be allowed off world again.

"Hey folks," Mitchell started, coming down the hill, SG-1 trailing after him. Sam was trying to get Teal'c to up his wager; surely 3 weeks would be too short.

"Oh, ah, hi, Colonel Mitchell. Teal'c, Jackson, Colonel Carter," Senior Airman Quen said. "You here to help?" He had hope in his voice, Mitchell noted. Maybe they could play this out a bit more.

"Oh just in the galactic neighborhood, so to speak. Heard in the village that Pole ran into a slight problem."

"Ya, I guess you could say that," Quen said slowly. "Look, Captain Kimberly is already going to have our hide for this, is there some way we could get this rectified and get home?"

"Broke all your P-90s?" Daniel said quietly. Sam jabbed him the ribs, thankful that Quen did not hear.

"You mean Pole was not wanting to try a new vocation?" Mitchell said, now chewing on a stalk of wheat. He thought it was wheat, at least.

Quen paled. "No sir. It was a big misunderstanding."

"I thought that Pole could talk himself out of anything. Fancied himself a linguist," Sam piped in. Daniel shot her a look.

"Ya, well…" Quen answered, shifting. "Look, just help us, maybe not tell how bad it got, and we will buy you lunch or something… please?"

"He is indeed worried. I will take your advice, ColonelCarter and up my wager by a week," Teal'c said, leaning beside his teammate.

Out in the field, still in his olive SGC jacket, stood Pole, minus a staff weapon, which he insisted on carrying. Instead, he held another kind of staff, and was surrounded by big, fluffy, cotton balls on legs, baaing and looking for direction. Mitchell regarded the scene for a moment longer. "It reminds me of my grandmother's place. I think Kimberly is wise for taking his real weapon away. The whole sheep thing looks very…"

"Pastoral?" Sam supplied.

"Very. I'm sure Landry would agree." Mitchell took out a digital camera, and snapped a picture of Pole and the sheep. "Gunner Mate, a word of advice – don't pick up others tools of trade if you don't want to do the job!"

Landry, after laughing for a few minutes, gave the order for Gunner Mate Pole and Senor Airman Quen, who dared Henna to pick the Shepard staff up in the first place, for 3 weeks of on base confinement.

The picture, dubbed 'Pastoral Pole,' was tacked to the SGC message board by the mess hall.