BLACK SHEEP

 

 "When I was a little girl," she said," Every spring my father would let us pick a newborn lamb of our own to care for and then when it came time to sell the wool, we got to keep the money."

"Now Susan," he said, "Pick out the lamb you want."

"This is the one I want, the little black one. He is so cute."

" But Susan, the wool won't be worth anything. You need to choose a white one."

But she did not want a white one. So her father agreed and after thinking for a long time she finally named it Mckinley. She had heard her parents say the name many times. A man named Mckinley had run for President and her father had campaigned for him and he was elected. She thought it was a very nice name.

One morning the phone rang and her father answered it.

" What? Oh no! I don't believe it!"

" What's happened?" her mother asked.

"Mckinley! Mckinley's been shot!"

"And when I heard that," she told me," I threw myself on the floor and started kicking and bawling. My little lamb had been shot.

" I was so relieved when I learned it was the President."

 

as told to me by Susan Byrd

Denver, Co  1993