The Sheep

Sheep being sheep.

A full hour after she was tucked in, Tatum yelled, “Daaaaad!”

Her father came running to console his five-year-old.

“What’s wrong, Sweetie? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep.”

He sat on the side of her bed and said, “Have you tried counting sheep? That seems to work.”

“What do you mean?”

“Close your eyes and pretend one by one that sheep are nearing a fence and hopping over. Count them one by one as they jump over. You’ll get to sleep in no time.”

“Oh ok. Thanks, Daddy.”

Her father kissed her on the forehead, turned out the light, and went back into the living room.

Fifteen minutes later, he heard, “Daaaaad!”

This time he came to her room but wasn’t in such of a rush.

“Yes, Tatum?”

“Dad, I tried to count those sheep, but they kept bumping into the fence. Boom! Now I have about twenty of them all on one side of the fence.”

Her father bit his lip to keep him from laughing.

“Ahh, I think I saw what you did. The fence they were jumping over was too high, much too high. So what I want you to do is to lower the fence and just watch as they jump over. Again, one by one. Lower the fence, Sweetie, and then count the sheep.”

“Okay, Daddy. Thanks. I love you.”

The next morning Tatum informed her father that she only counted 12 sheep that jumped over the fence and another ten went around it.