Leaving the ninety and nine...

...to find the one.

My poor lost lamb is on the wrong side of the train tracks but I'll do what it takes.

I received this latest ransom note wrapped and tied around a large rock... but not thrown through my window. They instead decided to just walk up the stairs and leave it on the door...

Answering their demands, I sacraficed cookes, $2.75 in state quarters, one tube of unused chapstick, and I threw in some floss. I dropped off the ziplock baggies at the Daily Herald which should have been the Daily Universe. I was confused under such trauma, I guess.

I'm beginning to think they really just wanted some thrills out of being publicly recognized on the blog. Smatchoo Sheep-nappers. That, or their mamas didn't love'em.

Shepherd's Pie

This was the third ransom note and tormenting picture sent to me. Their version of Shepherd's Pie.

Hannah Had a Little Lamb

...or at least I had its skin anways.

Returning home from Georgia, I walked into my bedroom, expecting to step onto my soft sheep skin rug, but instead felt a cold thin crackling piece of paper at my feet.

It read:

Written over a printed photo of my sheep laying on somebody else's carpet. The horror.

Then a few days later, I received another ransom note with my sheep being held above the toilet. A boy coodie invested apratment no doubt.

I'll find you my little sheep - if my name ain't Bo Peep. But in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy Paul McCartney's rendition of my great loss.