Nice little sheep!!! How dare they??? Brillo thought. I’m gonna show them ‘nice’. Come a little closer, yoomun, come a little closer.
As one of the over-confident young men got a bit too close, Brillo used his left horn to snag his trousers and jerk him off his feet. When the man was down, Brillo followed up with a “nice” little trample across his belly.
“Get up, you idiot,” the other man yelled. “I can’t hold him alone.”
No you can’t, can you? I’ll show you yoomuns, Brillo thought. He continued to jerk and rear and buck and generally make life miserable for his captors until he was exhausted. Damn rope, he thought. Just you wait.
The men continued on their way, pulling the ram, or sometimes being pulled by the ram, until they reached a camp. They tied Brillo to a convenient tree and sat down to eat and rest. They kept a wary eye on the ram, although it looked like he might settle down.
“So, Bill, you can stay here with the ram, and I’ll go drop off the ransom note. I’ll bet that Richards woman will pay a lot to have him back,” one man said.
“Bob, why don’t you stay with the ram, and I’ll go to town. He’s already given me rope burns and a bruised stomach. Are you sure this is a good idea?” the other asked.
“Sure it is. I don’t know why so many people like this critter, but he’s real popular in town. She ought to be happy to pay to have him back. He’s tied up, real secure. Just make sure no one sees you. I’ll be back later, Bill.”
Bob got up and headed towards town, to deliver his note, and have a few beers at the Gardens. He wanted to listen for rumors about the ram-napping. Besides, he just wanted a beer.
Bill, meanwhile, was nervously watching Brillo. He really wasn’t sure about Bob’s latest get-rich-quick scheme. Besides, Miz Richards was a nice lady. It seemed wrong to pick on her. And, the ram was kind of, well, different. He seemed a lot smarter than the usual sheep.
Bill sat for a while, and eventually drifted off into sleep.
A rank odor woke him after what he thought was only a few moments. As he started awake, he hit his head against a rough surface. Eventually, by wiping his eyes with his sleeve, he saw the wrong end of Brillo in front of his face. As he began to try to stand, Brillo settled down on his chest. And stayed there. And stayed there. Bill was sort of a scrawny type, and didn’t have the strength to move the ram. Only one arm was free, the other was under the ram.
Bill began yelling and screaming, but the ram just stayed where he was. And stayed. And stayed. Bill’s voice began to hoarsen. He gave up the screaming and just laid still. Maybe the ram would move soon.
Brillo was enjoying his stay at the camp. No wimmen, he thought. But I can find wimmen. Maybe we can head north.
Bob walked back into camp, after a long walk, and a few too many beers. The sight he saw made him think he’d had a lot too many beers. Here was Bill, trapped under the sheep, bawling and choking, and generally carrying on like a girl.
“Honest to Pete, Bill,” he yelled. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”
Bob kept making the choking sounds as Bill walked closer. As Bill reached for the ram’s handy collar, the ram turned his head quickly and a horn caught him right in the b… privates.
Bob fell to the ground and screamed, and choked, and generally carried on like a girl.
The sound of men laughing gradually came to the notice of Bob and Bill. They looked up from their individual pains to see Johan Sprug and Wilhelm Schmidt standing over them.
“Tell me, young man,” Sprug began, “Just how much money will you give me to take the ram home? Or would you rather I left him with you?”
Bob and Bill both reached into their pockets and emptied them. Sprug picked up their money, grabbed the ram’s collar and headed home, leaving Bob and Bill to moan as long as they needed to.
* * *
Flo finished reading the broadsheet in a fit of giggles. Whoever was writing these stories did have quite a good sense of humor. She looked over at J.D. with mirth in her eyes.
“Funny thing, Flo. I went outside this morning and found Brillo out again.”
“That’s not funny, J.D. That darn ram is going to get himself killed eventually. He’s become a big part of the business, and I can’t afford to lose him. I think he knows it, too.”
“Now, Flo, he’s just a sheep.” J.D. snickered. “He doesn’t have enough brain to know much beyond eat, breed, eat, breed. You really shouldn’t humanize him so much.”
“Yeah, right. I know what I know. He’s the devil in sheep’s clothing, that’s what he is. Anyway, what’s the funny part?”
“He had a bag tied around his neck. Here you go.”
Flo opened the small blue bag’s drawstring neck and found a few coins inside along with a note.
“Dear Mrs. Richards,” she read. “I’ve made a lot of money telling these stories. Felt like it was time to share.”
The Brillo Letters
Virginia DeMarce, Paula Goodlett, Kerryn Offord and Laura Runkle
Dear Flo,
I’ve been reading in the paper about your problems with your silly ram.
I still have the original 4-H patterns for making wrist pincushions stuffed with wool that has lanolin in it. These were used back in the 1930s and 1940s, when pins and needles were just steel rather than stainless steel. The lanolin keeps them from rusting.
The wool inside these doesn’t have to be smooth or fine or long-fibered. It just has to be there.
If you want a copy of the instructions, just come by the Fabrics and Textile shop one of these days when you’re in town. I’ll put them on the shelf underneath the cash register and tell all the girls they are there.
Your Friend,
Mary Ellen Shaver
* * *
Dear Mary Ellen,
Thank you very much for your suggestion. I’ll be making a trip to town in a day or so and will be very happy to have the use of your pattern.
I imagine you’re talking about those silly broadsheets, instead of the Grantville Times or the Daily News. I must say that I do not approve of their content. Suggesting that a silly ram could save the world for democracy, beat up a wolf, and so forth is clearly ludicrous. Brillo is just a sheep, after all. I won’t even address the issue of the drawings.
If you should happen to hear anything about who may be writing those outrageous stories, I’d appreciate being informed. I fully intend to take whatever measures necessary to stop this travesty.
Again, thank you for your suggestion. I’m looking forward to seeing the pattern and evaluating its usefulness.
Your friend,
Flo Richards
* * *
Dear Flo,