John Budan

Ewe Year’s Eve

I am reluctant to leave the New Year’s party after one too many brandies, but the persistent bleating of a sheep concerns me. Tripping through deep snow under a pale moon, I reach the barn where a confused animal staggers around in circles, searching for the life that is still inside her. As I tilt the clamorous ewe and reach inside, a pair of closed eyes and an open mouth with a protruding tongue is revealed. I grab two tiny feet and as I start pulling, the lamb pops out like a champagne cork, spraying me with its bursting fluids. My fingers sweep its mouth and nose, clearing air passages, but it does not breathe. Finally I insert a piece of straw into its nostrils, triggering its reflexes to sneeze and gasp for air. In a few minutes a new life nestles near its warm mother. It is midnight on the last day of 2021.

far from the city
a chorus of coyotes
deepens the night

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About the Author

John Budan has published widely. He lived in France, where he found his alter ego Guignol in Paris at the Jardin du Luxembourg.