Dean had discovered ice cream. And not just any ice cream, it was honey flavored. One day he woke up and was given this sweetness and it was as if the taste buttons on his tongue opened up like poppies in a field, bursting open with open arms (or petals if you rather hear about flowers than tongues) to receive what was sprinkled over them. As if they were drizzling warm honey flavored ice crystals. It was as if the hunger he had inside was like a hole, which was now filled, or made whole by this misty treat. He was full. He was filled. And at the same time he couldn’t have enough of it.
That would be the best thing in life, he had always thought, when you find something that you really, really like to eat and then eat endlessly of it. He had always been disappointed with this physical thing called satiation. The moment he ate too much of whatever he chewed on, eventually he got to the full-point, some point of no return and he had to ride it out, stop eating, his stomach hurting, waiting for the pain to subside.
So, when you do a story about sheep eating ice cream, you have to at least use the phrase ‘once upon a time’. This is that once. So upon a time Dean sat down and shared his ice cream with little Sheebo, who was also pleasantly surprised at the taste of it. So they both ate, together, since it is good to do that, you can’t share a meal by yourself, can you? The more they licked the honey, the more they discovered there was more than enough.
‘What a weird ice this is’, little Sheebo said, ‘how come it doesn’t run out? I don’t see it breathing but it seems to be alive, I mean, normally when I eat, eventually I run out of whatever it is I am eating, and I am left with an empty meadow, and a painful full stomach. Most of the time we then just go to sleep, or walk someplace else where we can graze. But this is something different.’
Both sheep enjoyed the ice cream. It changed they way they thought about life, about sheep, about meadows, about wool, about well.. everything basically. And the more they ate, the more they changed, first on the inside, and then on the outside. It was as if the scent of honey just poured out of their pores, giving off this sweet warm scent all around. Even the wool they carried had this milky good and healthy glow.
One day, Dean was called to go on a trip. He was invited to talk about honey flavored ice cream someplace else. When he came back, he saw little Sheebo. By the looks of it, he had been eating, his wool was dirty and he had a different smell.
Little Sheebo replied: ice cream of course, how should you not know? Have you forgotten our last get-together? That ice cream we had? When you were gone I got myself another one. They said ‘here’s your ice cream, honey’. Here Dean, have some yourself, you must be exhausted from your trip.
Dean didn’t know if he should feel confused or angry (or exhausted, since the trip was long). ‘Another one, meaning an extra one?’ he asked, ‘or another one, meaning a different one?’
Little Sheebo felt his cheeks turning red, and he hoped that the writer would call it blushing and not flushing. ‘Oh,..’ he hesitated and felt the warm hand of Dean on his head.. ‘Is there a language or translation problem here, I mean, it’s just ice cream..’
‘So, now that’s out of the way.. hey, you.. I am so glad to see you again, sweetie, wanna pose pretty for a sec? Just for old times sake?’
And because little Sheebo was so happy to have his friend (and honey ice cream back), he draw this picture for Dean.