Ah, the joys of a shepherd. How could any man look down upon my job? I walk among the grassy plains, one with nature. When I bite into the sweet white meat of an apple, I have picked it with my own hands. Every dawn the sun greets me good morning, and the crisp cool wind caresses my face. I am a noble with my long wooden staff, passed down to me from my father and his father before him. It is a memento of the rich lineage we share as shepherds. I am a blessed man, though I do not always live a pleasure-filled life.

On the long treks with my sheep I face many dangers and carry many burdens. My hair grows long, shaggy, and dirty from lack of grooming. I am not a social animal. I am skilled in the ways of the sheep, but not the ways of man. I am the sole caretaker of one hundred and three lives that depend on me, and me only. I decide what they eat, where they sleep, and protect them from the evil beings beyond our grassy valleys. I am important.

As of now, my sheep are glowing with pride at what they have produced: a baby lamb. Number one hundred and four. Its delicate face is cloaked in a mask of innocence. Its white wool is a beam of hope in an ever-darkening world. At this moment, I know what true joy is, and fall asleep curling the ringlets of baby-soft wool in my fingers.

I wake up hours later feeling lost and empty. I wonder why. The moon is high in the sky casting light throughout the valley. I check my small inventory (robe and staff), and begin to count my sheep. 101, 102,103… where is the last? I rack my brain. Which sheep could it be? No, no, it cannot be so. The lamb, (my precious, precious lamb) is gone, but to where?

The moonlit ground is bright enough for me to spot small tracks. I begin to follow them into the nearby wooded area. All the time I am hoping, praying my little lamb is okay. It is harder to see under a lush canopy of leaves. It is not what I am used to. Should I turn back? No, I will keep going. I begin to wonder if I will ever find my way back to the flock. Am I making a novice mistake? Is it worth it? I start to run. Brambles reach out and tear at my legs; eyes peer out at me from behind the bushes; owls hurl daunting questions. Frightened as I am, I will endure the tortures of my imagination. Soon I reach the edge of this flat ground and –what do I see below me? A horrible sight is waiting.

Below is my little lamb: lost, afraid, and lonely. She is bleating, “Shepherd, father, savior. Where are you?” Around her prowls a Big Cat, its jaws dripping saliva. Its muscles twist and ripple in anticipation. My lamb is almost out of time. I have overcome to many barriers and traveled too far to turn back now.

I have my staff in hand; I know that I could hurl the rocks at my feet. I have the choice, the ability to save the lamb’s life. It is my job and my duty. Can I find the strength to take on this task? Should I save this thing I love from the gaping jaws of imminent danger? Will I chose to be a coward or a hero for my lost lamb? Whatever I choose, the time to act is now.