The Sheep Detectives

Dearest Rebecca:

I know you have many questions.

So do I.

After all, life is a mystery.

But if there's one answer

to all the great riddles of the universe,

one secret to happiness,

I propose it would be simply this...

- Sheep. -

No, seriously.

It really is sheep.

Okay, I'm coming.

Now in your last letter,

you asked me if any of my sheep were special.

Well, they're all special.

That's why I gave each one a name.

For instance:

There are these rowdy twin rams

I've named Ronnie and Reggie.

And the very proud and dignified Sir Ritchfield.

Cloud, the fluffiest.

Bit of a diva, that one.

Zora, the most curious.

Mopple, the most patient.

And Wool-Eyes...

Well, because I haven't thought of a better name.

And, okay, I know I said they're all special,

but I have to admit

that two of my sheep are the most special.

There's Sebastian.

My biggest ram,

and like me, bit of a loner.

Sooner or later he wanders away.

And sooner or later he comes back.

And finally, Lily.

My smartest sheep.

The one who always seems to know

what I'm thinking in my head

and feeling in my heart.

Above all others,

she brings me the kind of peace

that only shepherds know.

A peace that comes

from taking care of the kindest creatures

on earth.

Each day starts by tending to their health.

I keep them well-fed...

well-groomed.

I do my best to keep them entertained.

And I make sure they get their medicine,

which I think they'd say they enjoy...

if only they could speak.

Time for your medicine, mate. There ya go.

And when my chores are finished

and the sun starts to sink low in the sky,

I choose a book to read out loud to them.

Detective novels, mysteries, whodunits. All my favorites.

"I know when

Rodney Hollingshead was murdered,

and I know who the real killer was."

I like to pretend

that they follow along with the story.

But I know in my heart that, as special as they are,

they're still...

- sheep. -

No, no more.

Go on, the lot of you.

I'll read the ending tomorrow.

Why would he stop there?!

He was just about to say

who the killer was!

This is torture! It was the maid, right?

Of course it's the maid.

No, no, no, it was the gardener.

Always cutting the grass but never eating any?

Yeah. Suspicious.

Are you all nuts? The doctor did it.

No way. It was the creepy aunt.

The creepy aunt was three stories ago, genius.

How do we have the same parents?!

Oh, here we go.

Right.

Oh, they're off again.

You're all wrong.

I figured it out two chapters ago.

Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm. The maid, right?

Not the maid.

The nephew, Bertie Hollingshead.

But, Lily, didn't the detective prove

all the evidence against Bertie Hollingshead

had been forged by the real killer?

Exactly.

Don't you see?

To escape conviction, he forged the evidence himself.

Bertie Hollingshead was the real killer.

What'd you do that for?

George is gonna finish the story tomorrow.

You'll see.

I still think it's the maid.

"Bertie knew all about the law

that said a person cannot be prosecuted twice

for the same crime.

And so, to escape conviction,

he forged the evidence himself.

Bertie Hollingshead was the real killer."

Now most of my sheep seem to spend their day

either eating,

or thinking about eating.

But I have three rambunctious lambs

with boundless energy.

Happy, carefree little creatures

who were born in the spring.

Actually, almost all lambs are born in the spring.

And then, there's my one lamb who was born in the winter.

Huh?

Oh. Hello.

- I'm Daisy. - I'm Oliver.

- I'm Pickles. - What's your name?

Mmm, I don't have a name.

Do you want to play with us?

No! Shoo!

You're not to play with that winter lamb.

He doesn't belong in this flock.

For reasons that only make sense to a sheep,

- a flock will often reject... -

... a lamb born in the winter.

It's okay. Oh, come here.

- Just because a winter lamb... -

- ...is different. - You're okay.

Oh, that's it. Good.

I have a question.

Why is George always so nice to that lamb?

George isn't a sheep.

No one's ever taught him about winter lambs.

Oh, and one last thing,

if you accept my invitation,

you should know that I live near a town called Denbrook.

It has its own special types.

For instance...

Morning, Caleb.

Caleb, also a shepherd.

Good morning, ladies.

Don't like him.

Ham, the butcher.

Really don't like him.

- Beth, the innkeeper. -

Doesn't like me.

Ugh! I could kill that man.

Tim, the policeman.

An idiot.

And Reverend Hillcoate,

who fancies himself a shepherd of men.

We have a complicated relationship.

And now today's reading: the Parable

of the Lost Sheep.

George, have you come to join us?

All are welcome in the house of the Lord.

Even butchers, hmm?

I'm not here to join you.

I'm here to settle a debt.

Good ol' George.

Good ol' George.

But enough about the people.

I want you to meet my flock.

They're longing to see you.

And so am I.

Please come soon.

Love, George.

Cloud?

- Mmm-hmm? - I have a question.

Will dandelions make my eyelashes

pretty like yours?

No, they do nothing for the lashes.

But they do wonders for the wool.

Just look at Wool-Eyes.

He eats nothing but dandelions.

Oh, is that what these are? Mm-kay.

We should save some of those dandelions for Sebastian.

He's been gone for days.

Who cares?

Ever since George brought him here from who knows where,

he keeps wandering off into that town.

Let him go hungry.

Just because he doesn't care about us

doesn't mean we shouldn't care about him.

Sebastian's part of our flock.

Oh, oh, look! It's Caleb!

Doggies!

Doggies, doggies,

doggies, doggies, doggies.

Caleb! Over here!

Oh, I always love the way he smells.

It's his woolen sweaters.

Mmm... They're so beautifully dyed.

- Can I come in? - Go away!

I'm coming in.

It's so new and beautiful and shiny.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

- I wanna bash it! - I wanna bash it so bad!

Reggie! Ronnie!