When Harvey met Larry and a butterfly flapped

I wasn't that surprised when I saw the shy little mite hiding behind a bin in a Tesco's car park. In retrospect I see that it's not really a common occurrence, a lamb in a car park, but I was in an absent minded mood and with only a library book to return and an afternoon of meat beating to look forward to, I decided check out the shivering shit-caked beastie.

The yellow tag on it's ear flicked against the side of the metal bin and I perceived hot vapour emerge from it's small pulsating nostrils and then disappear into the morning air. Fear dripped out of its quivering backside, and as I breathed in the rich earthy scent, a tenderness rushed through me. I would save this little creature. Blake’s lamb would find safety in my arms. I, the lone shepherd, would stride through Tescos, ignoring the reduced beans and 2 for 1 deodorant, with the little white parcel bleating merrily and licking the ruddy cheeked face of his saviour. People would clap and cheer at the sight of the two of us joined together in perfect harmony.

I had several options in order to make the lamb safe. The first relied on the element of surprise. I would turn my back on it and just when it thought I was going to walk away I would spring, cat like and grab it by the ears and wrestle it to the ground. The alternative plan was to coax it towards my open arms with some salt sachets I had found in my pocket.

I tried the salt sachets but my violent shaking of them just inspired another bowel movement. So I turned on my heels feigning disgust, walked a half pace forward and then in a series of controlled movements tripped over myself and began to fall toward the little white bundle of fluff. As I fell, I experienced something I can only describe now as a slowing down of time. As I made my descent, I noticed the tight white curls of its fleece, the pink tongue of its smiling mouth, the beauty of its gleaming eyes. This lamb really was an amazing creature: 'I'm glad I don't eat your kind' I screamed and then flopped face down into its fear induced excreta.

Silence. I got up slightly dazed and shit stained - half remembering that I needed some insole deodorisers. The poor little thing was lying a few yards from where I had fallen. I hadn't hit it, but there it was lying in a steadily growing pool of its own blood. Above it was the jagged handle of a large refuse bin and I quickly deduced that the lamb had sprung out of my way and straight into the bin handle, suffering a fatal head trauma.

I was in shock. A crowd was growing around me; my hands and face covered in lamb shit, and the bloody corpse lying at my feet. A little girl in the crowd began to cry; 'Mummy why did the brown man kill the sheeps?' I looked at her little red head and freckles and expected to weep, but nothing came. I simply reached into the bin and found an empty cardboard box, picked up the carcass and placed the dripping body gently into the box and the box in the bin.

I started to make my way home, covered in shit and blood. People stared at me, yet no one offered me help until one really big guy looked like he was about to. In that instance of blind panic I jumped out of his way and straight into a lamppost. The big guy helped me up, his hands now covered in faeces and blood. A smartly dressed middle-aged couple stopped in front of us and shook their heads at him and he in turn looked at me sadly, and began shaking his head. I looked down at my hands and thought of the lamb and then remembered I still had a library book to take back.

We all walked away from each other, still shaking our heads. Each of us wondering why.