Suicidal Sheep

The bighorn sheep population of Western Montana is growing every year. The state is even considering holding a longer hunting season on them. Too bad they’ve opened season on themselves. Bighorns to me, seem like the king of sheep. Comparing them to domesticated sheep is like comparing a fine cut of ham to a can of Spam. They just look regal. I’m pretty sure it’s the curling horns and the way they always stand to straight looking above everything. As it turns out, instead of an all-knowing, I am the James Earl Jones of the Animal Kingdom look, it’s really just a vacant I am less intelligent than a caveman look. Who knew.

The problem seems to be their love of salt. In the winter, after salt trucks coat the highways, there can be any number of sheep lolling about casually licking it from the pavement. Thus, a multitude of them are plastered by eighteen wheelers traveling through the area. Which, as you can imagine, can create quite the mess. The sheep don’t seem to mind. They’ll saunter about amid their recently living comrades, licking the pavement.

It’s really bad enough that I feel like walking about the state with a bag of salt licks, and distribute them. On the side of the road. I’d be the Johnny Appleseed of salt licks. Oh, to be on a level with Johnny Appleseed. My life could be complete.