Chapter 18

The next pen was colored with a red tartan pattern and had been found by the old man on the cobblestone floor of the Wilfordrshire castle, in the shepherding country of Scotland. The pen was immediately recognized by the tour guide when the old man took it out of his coat upon his return there. "Doesn't belong to the castle-'tis the pen of a good friend of mine, John Isaacson,"he said,"See the initials engraved there?"

The old man obliged. "Aha–know where I can find the lad?" he asked in his best Scottish accent, for the old man had a habit of trying to match his voice and manner to that of whomever he conversed with though he was never very convincing. 

"In the pasture just on the other side of this hill tending, he'd be."
 
"Sheep?"

"I like to think of his as wooly acrobats," said the tour guide showing a bird's eye picture on his phone of a smiley face formed from the furry white animals,"That's John's flock-all 100."

"Amazing-how do they do it?"

"Follow the sheepdogs...who follow the shepherd."

But when the old man walked over the hillside and found the apparent local celebrity, he was anything but "smiley". John Isaacson, a burly looking fellow was heading toward the woods, beside the pasture where his flock was grazing, when the old man approached.

"This is yours, I believe," said the old man trying to hand him the pen, but he was ignored.


"Dot!" John cried out,"Dottie-my love!!"

"Did you lose your wife?" asked the old man.

"No, my sheep–wife ran off years ago,"answered John," Now she's deserted me, too–'less that bloody thief, Ivan Malloy stole 'er. Dottie!!"

"Perhaps a wolf got her?" suggested the old man.

"In Scotland??" laughed the shepherd,"ain't been wolves here since the 14th century, lad. King eradicated 'em."

The old man tried to hold his tongue but he couldn't. "Where there is sheep there are always wolves,"he said.

The shepherd stopped at the tree-line. "The only ravenous, blood-thirsty animals 'round here are down at the pub-now if you'll excuse–"


"Can I just give you this?" the old man tried to return the pen but again was unsuccessful as the shepherd disappeared into the forest. "Wait!!" The old man reluctantly followed, "Bloody wait!"

"God help us with that accent," sighed John, sarcastically.

"Oh, He will-of that I have no doubt,"replied the old man.

"Makes one of us."

"Why do you doubt Him?"

"Well he certainly ain't cared nothin' about the falling fleece prices. A shepherd can't feed his family on pennies a clip. Mind you–I haven't lived a godly life like the long line of cross–bearers 'fore me. Let's just say I'm the black sheep of the clan, not worth–Oh, what am I bloody confessing to an old man–and what do you bloody want, anyway??"

Just then, a rustling noise was heard in the nearby thicket.

"Dottie is...is that?–" said John.

"Look–"interrupted the old man,"The way you live is no business of mine, I've come to simply return this pen to you." The old man placed the pen right in front of John and this time the shepherd took it and examined it like a sword distracting him from the noise in the bushes.

"Oh yes-must've dropped this in Wilfordshire castle when–" A ferocious growl masked his last words like thunder clapping, as a large aggressive beast sprang from the bushes and assaulted the shepherd, knocking him to the ground.

Then, just as suddenly, the terrifying growl turned into a painful yipe that faded 'til the animal went limp and turned into furry silver and grey blanket covering John Isaacson.

"A wolf??" said the bewildered shepherd.

"Aye laddy 'tis so."

John rolled it off, revealing the blood-soaked pen with which he had stabbed the animal.

As the two men stared silently, a sheep came sauntering out of the fauna.

"Dottie! Dottie!" the  shepherd laughed until crying, as the sheep licked his face, "perhaps God has left the ninety and nine to find us both, my love."

"No doubt he has,"said the old man,"for He is the Good Shepherd."

As the three walked back to the pasture the shepherd said,"God has looked out for me today, but tomorrow I have have a commodity that I cannot sell for a profit in this dark cruel world?" 

"I understand you have quite a talented flock,"said the old man,"perhaps there is more than wool you have to sell. Do not doubt, John Isaacson, the Light of this dark cruel world will show you the way and when He does, I should like to hear about it."

"Then you shall,"said John. 

And so the old man left his address with the shepherd and went on his way...