Another Day, Another Blog

April 8, 2007

Simba and the sheep

Filed under: ficlet, humour — iamza @ 12:01 am

“Oh, I say, hello there,” said a voice from behind Simba, and he turned to confront the oddest sight yet: a shaggy bush with two bright tawny eyes.

“Hello,” said Simba, and took a cautious step back. “Wha–who are you?”

“They call me Richard,” said the bush, and grinned. Simba couldn’t help noticing that it had very white teeth. Very long and pointy white teeth. “And you, young Sir? What should I call you?”

“I’m Simba,” said Simba. “I’m a lion.”

“Yes, so I see.” Richard grinned more widely, and Simba’s tail began to twitch. “From Africa, I would say, if that accent is anything to go by.”

Simba nodded. “A-a-and you?”

“Why, Simba, I too am a lion, of course. A lion of England’s fair green pastures and pleasant meadows. Can you not tell from my mane, and my sharp claws, and my roar?” Richard was no longer smiling.

Simba’s mother had always told him that good manners were the height of civility, and in his uncertainty, he took refuge in her teachings. “Forgive me, I had not heard your roar, Sir Lion.”

“That’s quite all right, lad,” Richard said kindly. “Not many have. But I assure you it is a quite fearsome roar, and one which you would no doubt instantly recognize — I am told the roar of the Lionheart is famous the world over.” 

Simba smiled nervously. “Oh, the Lionheart,” he said, “of course.”

There followed a moment’s silence, and Simba’s tail twitched as he tried to think of something to add. “What lovely weather!” seemed a little bland, and “Where are all the kudu?” was a little too forward. Food was a subject to be broached carefully, after a long sun-soaked nap together on a rock, or as the sun set behind distant hills and the sky turned salmon-pink. 

“So, what brings you all this way?” Richard asked, eventually.

Simba rushed to fill the silence, delighted he didn’t have to come up with a question after all. “Just expanding my horizons,” he said. “The Keepers told me I would do well to get out into the world while I was still young and fancy-free.”

Richard nodded. “They are quite right. Nothing like a trip abroad to make one appreciate the comforts of home, eh, lad?”

“I guess not.” Simba smiled, then winced as his stomach growled. Well, he thought, they’d been introduced. Maybe it wasn’t too soon to mention food? “Your kudu, for example, seem to be far better at camouflage than our own. I haven’t seen a single one all day!”

“Ku–? Oh, we have none of those. But if you continue into yonder field, you shall find more than enough rabbits to eat! Mm, bunny-chops!” Richard’s eyes began to glow, and he licked his lips. 

Simba took a prudent step back. “Thank you for your help, Sir Lionheart. I shall go and look at that field directly,” he said, and fled.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The field did not at first look promising. There was an enormous tree in the centre of it, and it was surrounded by green hedges. Simba could see lots of yellow and white flowers nestled in the grass, but no sign of bunny-chops, whatever they were.

He sighed. Perhaps if he got into hunting mode he might have more luck? Simba nestled down, trying to hide in the short green grass.

Overhead, a large black bird cawed with laughter, and Simba shot it an annoyed glance. The tip of his tail thrashed furiously. If that bird kept this up, Simba would never get any food!

A flash of white flickered to his left, and Simba whipped his head around. What strange creatures these English are, he thought, and marvelled as a fluffy white body with too-long legs gambolled in his direction.

The creature stopped about twenty feet away from Simba, and tilted its head to one side. “Baaa?” it said, plaintively.

Simba squinted back. “Um, hello?”

The creature bounded a little closer, and Simba began to wonder if this was the bunny-chops the Lionheart had been talking about. Bereft of its white coat, Simba suspected the bunny-chops would make a tasty snack, and his mouth began to water at the thought.

“Baaa?” it repeated.

“Ah, I’m not sure I understand.” Simba said, and he crawled a little closer to the bunny-chops.

“Baaa!” said the bunny-chops, and took three or four bouncy steps towards him.

“My,” said Simba, “what big eyes you have!” It never hurt to be polite, after all.

The bunny-chops danced a little closer. It was now only two feet from Simba, and he could feel the drool collecting at the corner of his lips. “Baa!” It said, as if agreeing with Simba’s assessment, and grinned.

“My,” said Simba, “what big teeth you ha–”

And the bunny-chops pounced.

“Blaah-dy foreigners,” said a passing sheep. 

THE END

Moral of the story: Never trust a lamb. They have an agenda, too.

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2 Comments »

  1. Hahaha, My God you have a twisted mind….. !! :-D
    This sure is a new view on the Pascal lamb !…..

    Comment by Bee — April 8, 2007 @ 5:48 pm

  2. I try.

    Also, sheep are evil, which, really, makes it so much easier. :-)

    Comment by iamza — April 9, 2007 @ 9:29 am


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