Mary had a little lamb. It was given to her by her father, Farmer Wigglesworth, for her fortieth birthday.
She was overjoyed, as the local menfolk thought she was pig ugly and stayed as far away from her as humanly possible.
The lamb, also shocked by her horrific appearance, attempted several times to escape her grubby, Cumberland sausage fingers, but failed every single sorry time.
It yearned for its own death every night.
Obviously, it didn’t happen.
Then one night, as Mary snored like a bison giving birth to a bull elephant, the lamb was visited by Stinkerbell the fairy.
She asked the dear lamb, in its own rubber tongue, if it would like a wish.
The lamb cried with relief and said that it most definitely would like one wish whatever the cost.
‘I must tell you about the terms and conditions, likkle lamb…’ Stinkerbell began, producing a very thick contract.
‘I really don’t need to,’ the lamb bleated. ‘I don’t care what price I have to pay, I just want away from her!’
‘Even if it results in you and all your future kin becoming as thick as shit?’
‘Even that! Give me the wish, pleeeease!’
Stinkerbell bowed from her potbelly and shrugged.
‘Your call,’ she said and waved her wand delicately in concentric circles. ‘I hereby gift you one wish!’
‘Thank you!’ The lamb cried with relief. ‘Thank you! I wish to be old enough to leave this woman’s filthy clutches!’
Immediately the lamb grew into a not so cute sheep. For every inch it fattened its brain size deteriorated and its will to flourish wilted, until it became scared of its own shadow. Well, it would’ve been scared of its own shadow if in fact it knew what a shadow was.
By the time it was fully grown it didn’t even know how it had become the odd, skittish way it had.
It ran around the cave it shared with Mary in fright, cracked its head off the grey hard stuff all around and then jumped on to the campfire for warm safekeeping.
Mary, a very heavy sleeper, slept through the shrieking and the crackling of fatty flesh and fleece and then awoke to a good barbecued lamb brekkie.
It was the last time her father gave her a pet lamb, so Mary crushed his skull, blamed a wolf and claimed the inheritance.
She lived happily, if somewhat unloved, ever after.