Weaving a Woolen Revolution

The Tales of Minz series is narrated and edited by fictional characters. This short story is set in their whimsical world. Learn more about the series here.

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Throughout history, the seeds of revolution rarely take root immediately. No, once planted, they start small and slowly grow over time. Monarchies are not often overthrown overnight. Systems take time to change. Philosophies and culture evolve at a snail’s pace. However, revolutions all start somewhere, and this tale marks the beginning of an important moment in Minz’s history. 

—Barnabas E. Wooldridge

Editor in Chief of the Tales of Minz

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On a bright, Coland day with the warm sun beating down and a cool spring breeze taking its heat away, we focus our attention on a small, grassy meadow. The meadow is not far from the bustling town of Olga’s Farm, and you can still visit it to this very day.

Wild flowers grow in that small, grassy meadow, but the wild flowers are not the focus of our story. Nor are the birds that fly overhead in the cloud-covered sky. Nor are the rabbits in their warrens deep below the earthen fold.

No, the focus of our story is on the gathering of several woolly sheep grazing in that small, grassy meadow. (Yes, you read that right, this story is about sheep.)

I’ve written elsewhere that many animals can talk in this magical, whimsical world we call Minz. I’ve also suggested that many animals simply prefer not to speak around people because we’d likely just try to sell them to some zoo or traveling menagerie for a pretty copper or two. 

Now, sheep are famously unintelligent animals. They wander off and get lost, they refuse to follow directions, and they can be rather stubborn animals. I’m here to tell you that all of that is—by and large—a clever ruse. It’s a mummer’s farce so well crafted that no one would ever suspect that sheep are, in fact, one of the most intelligent creatures in all of Minz. 

You’re still skeptical, right? See how clever the lie they’ve crafted to hoodwink the world truly is…

On this particular Coland day, three sheep stand grazing in that small, grassy meadow. As they grazed, the three sheep held a conversation (seeing as sheep don’t follow societal norms and cues to refrain from talking and eating at the same time). This conversation would change the fate of sheep everywhere. Indeed, it would change the fate of the world itself.

Sheep don’t normally name themselves in the same manner as other sentient beings. They rarely answer to the names given to them by shepherds and farmers—or names given to them by the children of such beings. Instead, sheep prefer to call each other by the names they have given to themselves. Now, the method of naming oneself is unique to each sheep. They choose a word that has personal significance to them, and they declare the name by which they wish to be known to the rest of the flock. From that day forward, that is their name. 

And so, this fate-changing conversation took place between three sheep by the unique and self-given names of Rock, Crane, and Mellow. (Mellow was the only female of the three.)

Come and listen, Dear Reader, to the formation of an organization that changed the lives of livestock everywhere. 

“Look,” Mellow was saying to the other two while she chewed, “all I’m saying is that we don’t have a voice, and we should. As self-aware, sentient beings, we have unalienable rights that are currently being trampled on.” 

Mellow was the youngest of the three, and had once chewed her way through a book on the treatises of a philosopher that included a treatise of the rights of sentient beings. (She read the treatise before eating the book, which meant that she thoroughly enjoyed and digested the information in more ways than one.) She had picked her name because it was what she aspired to be. However, she also knew that sometimes, she had to be more than just mellow. She had to be incensed and irate. 

“You might be right, Mellow,” said Crane. He was a few years older than her. He had chosen his name because he admired the long-legged birds and the way they soared through the sky, careless and free. “I don’t think any sheep would argue with you on those points. But the two-leggers? I suspect that many of their kind would take great issue with your words.”

(Two-leggers was how sheep referred to the vast majority of humanoid beings. Not all were human, per se, but it was easier than listing every species who lorded over sheep.)

“Of course they would. To acknowledge our sentience would be to admit that they have wrongfully subjected us and withheld wages and benefits for our services.” Mellow pawed the ground angrily. “Not only that, but they also raise our kind for slaughter, to put food on their tables. No, they do not wish to acknowledge our sentience because to do so would be to acknowledge the horrors they have committed against our kind.”

“So, what do we do?” Crane looked around and spoke in a hushed tone, as if he expected a two-legger to appear out of thin air. “We rely on two-leggers to keep us safe from predators.”

“We could manage without them,” Mellow said confidently. “Continued reliance on the two-leggers for protection and sustenance is highly unwise. We should be teaching self-reliance and independence to our ewe lambs as they grow. Otherwise, history will repeat itself, and the younger generations will be the same as us.”

“That’s a fine dream, Mellow, but it still doesn’t address our current situation,” argued Crane. “We’re still subject to the two-leggers. We’re under their thumb, and I have no idea how we’re supposed to get out from under it!” 

“We prove that we’re not mindless beasts,” Mellow said. “We prove that we are sentient, intelligent beings, just as they are. The same laws that protect two-leggers from mistreating or killing each other should apply to us as well.”

“That seems like a lot of hard work with a slim chance of success. Can’t we just, I don’t know, attack them? Drive them away from our flocks and force them to leave us alone?”

“We could,” admitted Mellow. “But such an act would not show our sentience—only our capacity for animalistic brutality. And our freedom would be very, very brief. If we were to attack them, the two-leggers would likely band together and destroy us.”

“So what are we supposed to do? Find some random two-legger and demand that they recognize our sentience and rightful place among their kind?” Crane laughed hollowly. 

“You’re not far off.” Mellow had been thinking about their conundrum for quite some time now. “We use their own laws to form the basis for our case against them. If they’re going to profit off of us, at the very least, we deserve a share of the profits. Any business transaction between two-leggers gets negotiated until they come to an agreement—why can’t we do the same?”

“Even if we can somehow manage to get the two-leggers to negotiate with us, how will they take us seriously? We’re sheep!”

“We remind them of that fact, and we show them how much they need us.” Rock, the eldest sheep, spoke up for the first time. He took time to think of the words to say, but he stood by his convictions and his friends, unmoveable, once his mind was made up. Perhaps that was why he decided to take the name that he did. 

“How do we do that?” Mellow asked the older sheep. 

Rock had been thinking about their conundrum for quite some time as well.

“We go on strike. All sheep everywhere throughout Minz. We refuse to be shorn. We refuse to listen when shepherds and sheepdogs try to lead us where to go. We refuse and we protest. Silently. Peacefully. Without sinking to base, animalistic responses that the two-leggers will want us to exhibit. So that they realize how much they need us, and so that they have no excuse to recognize our sentience and the lack of decency with which we have been treated thus far. We will gain our rights by reminding them how they have abused their own.”

Silence fell over the sheep in that small, grassy meadow on that bright, Coland day. Mellow and Crane just stared at Rock with stunned expressions. A nearby bird who had been listening to the sheeps’ conversation nearly fell from his perch. But that might have been a coincidence. Then—

“I think… I think that just might work,” Mellow said. “Not all sheep will want to join us, but if we form a coalition—no, that’s not the right word. If we form a union—yes, that’s it—with a large number of sheep, we can get the vast majority of sheep in Minz to receive the rights we deserve.”

“That’ll probably take some time, won’t it?” Crane asked. 

Mellow nodded. “Oh yes. We might not see the fruits of our labors for months, if not years after we start. But this wouldn’t just be for us, don’t you see? We’d be doing this for our generation of sheep and all the generations that come after us.”

“When you put it that way, it does have a noble, praiseworthy feel to it.” Crane belched and then resumed eating grass. “When do we start?” 

“Here. Now.” Mellow looked at her friends. “It starts with us. What should we call ourselves?” 

The three sheep were each silent for a moment as they considered their options and brainstormed some ideas. 

“Sheep’s Union?”

“The Union?”

“United Sheep?” 

“Lightning!”

“With the exception of the final option—sorry, Crane, that’s just an insanely ridiculous name for a union, especially if we want to be taken seriously by the two-leggers—what if we combine all of these ideas?” Mellow asked.  “How about: The United Sheep’s Union of Minz or USUM for short.”

Despite laying the groundwork for introducing a whole, brand new organization to sheep history, Mellow was feeling remarkably calm. Her hooves weren’t shaking, and her stomach wasn’t jumping around doing uncontrollable somersaults. This felt right. It felt exactly like what she was supposed to be doing. 

Of course, if we were to continue following our three protagonists on their noble quest to persuade their fellow wooly comrades to join USUM, we would see many admirable, praiseworthy moments. But we would also see some rather dark, violent moments as the two-leggers did not see eye to eye. 

Particularly, in the nearby town of Olga’s Farm, we would see ploughshares and pitchforks beaten and shaped into swords and spears to carry into battle against those they once considered to be livestock. We would see the cobblestone streets run red. Has there ever been such a thing as a bloodless revolution? I know not. 

But that is, perhaps, a story for another time. For now, let’s have our final story moment be with Rock, Crane, and Mellow in that small, grassy meadow on that pleasant Delin day.

“Say, Mellow?”

“Yes, Rock?” 

“Do you think it will work? The United Sheep’s Union of Minz, I mean. Do you think it will help improve our living and working conditions?”

Mellow paused and then spoke, never more certain in her conviction than she was in that moment. 

“Honestly? I don’t know. But I can hope and dream that it will. And at the end of the day, we’ll be a part of something much larger than ourselves, working for the greater good of all sheep everywhere. Even if it doesn’t work for us, I’m confident that our efforts will pave the way for those who come after us. And that’s enough for me right now. How about you?”

“Yeah. Me too.”