Fence posts. Brown, rotting, splintered fence posts. That's the only thing that keeps these sheep from doing whatever it is that recently escaped sheep do. Drink, gamble off shears of wool, enjoy the fruits of other ewes and rams, trampling the year's best crops.

And so there are fence posts. There was a shepherd at some point. He was a gormless fool, ridiculous transcendent ideas and didactic guidance. Not the type of man any farmer would want around. Not good for business, not when people want daily lamb chops on their plates.

Of course, the shepherd enjoyed his sodomy, especially on the sheep. He was a fan of the whiskey, and he was famous for gambling his only pair of pants away. And he sure enjoyed the fruits of the ewes and rams.

So it's no wonder that they did finally escape but they didn't create any madness, drink or gamble or spread their seed about. They had indeed learned something from the shepherd's guidance. So much sodomizing and abuse had conditioned them to do quite the opposite of it all.

Of course, they did eventually ruin that farmer's crops. Sheep do love their vegetables.