The Good Goatherd and the Good Shepherd

Once upon a time, a long time ago, a shepherd lived high in the mountains. He prided himself on being a very good shepherd. He tended his sheep with care, and they grew fat on the sweet mountain grass.

One day he noticed that one of his lambs was missing. He went to search for it.

As he roamed about the mountain, looking for his lost lamb, he came upon another flock of sheep, contentedly grazing.

"Sheep!" he thought. "I thought all the sheep on this mountain were mine! I do not recognise them; still, am I not the shepherd? I will take them with me."

As he was rounding them up, a man came up. "What are you doing?" he asked the shepherd.

"I am gathering up my lost sheep," replied the shepherd.

"I am sorry to hear that you've lost your sheep," said the man, "But these aren't them. These are my sheep."

"No, these are my sheep," said the shepherd; "They've always been my sheep. They simply didn't know it."

"No, these are my sheep! Go away!"

"But do you not care for your sheep?" asked the shepherd.

"Of course I do," replied the man, irritated and confused.

"Then you will what is best for them. I am the Good Shepherd; they will be better off with me than with anyone else." And he struck the man down and left with his sheep.

Many days later, as he herded his flock across the high mountain pastures, he came across another man tending another flock. "Ah, here are more of my lost sheep!" he said.

The other man eyed him. "No; these are my sheep."

"They have always been mine," said the Good Shepherd; "And now I have come for them! I am the Good Shepherd."

"Well, I am a good shepherd, too," said the man angrily; "And I will not let you steal my sheep!"

"But you want what is best for your sheep, do you not? With me, they will thrive on the sweetest mountain grasses."

"My sheep already eat the sweetest mountain grasses; they are thriving already!"

"Ah, but the grass they eat in my care will be even sweeter!"

The man looked at the Shepherd's flock, grazing next to his own. "What, like now?"

"Yes," replied the Good Shepherd.

"So the grass they eat while in your care.."

"Will be sweeter by far than that which they now eat."

"But they're eating the same grass!"

"The grass my sheep eat is sweeter."

"Really. And why is that?"

"Because I guided them to it." And with that, the Good Shepherd struck the other man down and took his sheep.

It wasn't very much longer before the people of the village noticed that many of their men and their flocks were missing, and that the Good Shepherd's flock was strangely larger. The village elders paid him a visit.

"Many of our men are missing," they said; "And their sheep. Whereas your own flock increases daily. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"These are all my sheep," said the Good Shepherd calmly.

"There are those who would argue that."

"They are sheep; therefore they are mine. All sheep are my sheep. I am the Good Shepherd!"

"Look, you can't just go about stealing other people's sheep!"

"I am not stealing. I take only what is rightfully mine."

"Which is all sheep."

"Yes."

The elders looked at each other in consternation. "And why should they all be yours?" one asked finally.

"Because I am the Good Shepherd! Under my care, no sheep will suffer. I allow none of my sheep to die."

"Well, none of us do!"

"But you slaughter them," replied the Good Shepherd. "You take their wool and their lives and give them nothing back."

"We protect them and shelter them," replied the elders; "We ease their births and feed them well. They feed us and we keep their numbers in check so that they don't starve. We are shepherds!"

"But I am the Good Shepherd! Sheep in my care shall want for nothing. And the sheep in my care shall live forever!"

"ThenÉ you don't slaughter them?" asked one.

"Or fleece them?" asked another.

"No."

Once again the elders looked at each other uncertainly. But then, one of them noticed the pot bubbling over the fire. "That's mutton!" he said accusingly. "And your clothes are made of wool!"

"Yes."

"Then you do fleece your sheep! And your sheep do die!"

"No," replied the Good Shepherd; "When I partake of the flesh of a sheep it becomes one with me; the sheep may die, but the Sheep continues." And he kicked them all out and shut the door.

No one knew what to do about the Good Shepherd. They tried grazing their flocks with others, but still, men disappeared, and the Good Shepherd's flock grew larger. "How many sheep does one man need?" they wondered. "And how do we stop him from taking ours?"

One day, a young man asked his father why the Good Shepherd was taking all the sheep.

"He says they're all his," his father replied, "Because they're sheep."

"Well, we'll just see about that," said Hans, for that was his name; "I think I shall introduce him to my goats." For Hans was a goatherd.

The next morning, instead of heading to his usual pastures, he took his flute, his sling, and his goats, and went in search of the Good Shepherd. After a while he came across the edge of a vast flock grazing on the mountainside. He settled in with his goats, lay back against a warm boulder, and took out his flute. His sling he laid to hand nearby.

After a while a shadow fell over him. "My lost sheep!" a voice boomed.

Hans paused his playing but did not look up. "No, these are goats," he said, and once again set the flute to his lips.

"They look like sheep."

"They aren't," said Hans again; "They're goats."

"Prove it," said the Good Shepherd, for indeed it was he.

"Prove they're sheep," replied Hans equably.

"They have horns; their hooves are cloven. They are sheep."

"You're a bit near-sighted, aren't you?" remarked Hans. He placed a pebble in his sling and stood up.

"What's that for?"

"Ducks," replied Hans.

"Ducks? There are no ducks around here!"

"There might be," replied Hans, scanning the sky and idly spinning the sling. "A nice plump duck would make an excellent dinner. Or perhaps a goose," and he put a larger stone in his sling instead.

"Ducks be damned," growled the Good Shepherd; "Give me my sheep!"

"I can't; they're goats."

"I am the Good Shepherd; in my care no sheep will perish!"

"Then what do you eat?" asked Hans curiously.

"The sheep I consume do not die, but become one with me, and continue."

"The same might be said of the flesh I eat."

"No, for in you the flesh does not linger, but is passed through and becomes excrement."

"Fertilizer, to make the grass grow."

"The sheep I eat is not parted from me; it becomes one with me."

"Then I wonder greatly that you are not extremely fat. Or extremely constipated."

"Bah!" said the Good Shepherd. "These are my sheep; I am taking them with me!"

"You are welcome to try to take any sheep that you find here," said Hans.

The Good Shepherd glared at him, but when Hans did nothing more than twirl his sling and idly scan the skies he simply grunted and set about gathering up the goats.

However, when he stood behind them to drive them towards his own flock, instead of obediently trotting away from him, they simply scattered around him and resumed grazing. Try as he might, he could not drive them.

"What is wrong with these sheep?" he cried in frustration.

"They're not sheep; they're goats, and they're happy where they are," said Hans, spinning the sling a little faster. "Is that a goose up there?" he added.

"Bah! They are sheep, and I will have them," growled the Good Shepherd. He tried once more to drive them, but the herd was getting edgy with him prancing about in their midst; they jumped away, and the billies rolled their eyes at him.

"Fine," said the Good Shepherd, and he dove to grab a kid. "I'll move them one at a time if I have to!"

"Don't do that," said Hans; "I keep telling you, they're not sheep! They'll fight to protect themselves."

And sure enough, the kid's mother reared up, legs flailing, to drive the Good Shepherd away from her offspring. The billies reared back and butted him, their hard heads bruising flesh and cracking ribs. "Get them off!" cried the Good Shepherd in panic, and tried to kick at them. "I am the Good Shepherd!"

"And I am a good goatherd," said Hans, twirling his sling above his head, "And I too will protect my charges!" and with that, he released his sling. The rock flew hard and true, and struck the Good Shepherd between his eyes. The Good Shepherd was dead before he fell.

Hans sat back down and picked up his flute. "There, there," he called to his goats, and played a calming melody. The billies, satisfied that the threat to their little tribe was gone, soon led the herd away to graze again.

Once they had settled, Hans packed up his flute and sling, and whistled to the goats. "Come on," he called. "I know it's still early, but I've got to tell the villagers to come and get their sheep." And, not driving, but leading his goats, he headed back home.

The End.

© 2007 Freydis Heimdallson