2024 Short Story Contest: Third Place

Lambs and the Paint Bucket 

Mishap    

    “Honestly, when I say get out, I mean GET OUT! Baaa!” Lista charged after the frantic gray lamb, butting her head against its wooly rear. “This is our grazing area! Understand?”

    “You tell her, Sis!” Landal bounced up and down on his black hooves, cheering.

    The lamb, bleating mournfully, scampered into the barn where the ewes stood chattering.

    Lista shook her head as she trotted back to her twin, the aureolin-yellow sun beaming upon her snowy coat. “Like I said, if we want to win first place in the upcoming county fair, we need the best grass for ourselves in the best part of the pasture!”

    Landal shrugged and tore up some clover while a refreshing, July breeze ruffled the vegetation around them. “I just want to have my own peaceful grazing area where everyone gets along.”

    Lista wrinkled up her face. “Really? What about showing the world our greatness?”

    “Hey, are you two being nice?” A fair, worried voice rang across the meadow. “Where is your mother to make sure you aren’t misbehaving?”

    Lista and Landal froze, lifted their heads, and slowly trampled around. There, leaning against the fence a little ways away was Farmer Maci! The lady’s blonde braids flowed out from under a straw hat and down her pink-checkered shirt and jean overalls. She held two silver buckets, which she set down in their pen by their barn!

    Lista gasped. “What is she doing?”

    Landal narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know, but it looks like she forgot something and is going back to her barn.” And sure enough, Farmer Maci was walking away from their pen towards the shed, muttering to herself.

    His sister nodded her head. “Yeah, so we need to act fast before she comes back! Don’t you remember Farmer talking with people about having something called ‘Fourth of July Fireworks’ in our pen without our permission? We are losing our respect–which we can’t let happen!” She scrunched up her face. “Something about those buckets makes me think she’s gonna do something to our barn as well!”

    A sly smile spread across Landal’s snout. “Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

    Lista rolled her eyes for what seemed like the fifth time that day. “Are you kidding me, Landal? Of course, I am! We need to get rid of those cans to show her who is boss!”

    Landal blinked. “Well, I was thinking we could just go over there to see what’s in them—like detectives. But,”–he smiled mischievously–“I guess we can do that too.”

    “Then what are we waiting for?” Lista whipped around and took off at a lightning speed through the shamrock plain—giving nearby lambs the “no funny business while we’re gone” look. Then, she paused a dozen feet away from the barn and eyed its peeling mauve paint.

    “Landal?” Lista trampled back around and a flash of white disappeared around a bush to her left. “Landal!”

    Landal’s little white head, with a black spot on its forehead, poked out from the branches. He quickly shook it. Then he stealthily tip-toed over to his sister, his eyes darting this way and that.

    Lista tilted her head to the side. “Landal, what are you doing?”

    The lamb quickly reached his sister, then slinked behind her to a nearby clump of weeds. “We’re sneaky detectives! It’s fun, come and try.”

    Lista groaned. “No. Listen, if we want to regain our social status through this mission, we need to stay focused. Also, remind me soon to do something about our extremely dirty barn–it will give a very bad first impression to visitors!”

    With a sigh of disappointment, Landal got up and joined his sister.

    It wasn’t long until both lambs frolicked across the dandelion-dotted meadow towards their appointed destination.

    Without warning, Landal screeched to a halt.

    “LANDAL!” Lista slammed her hooves down hard, slipped on mud, and slid turbo speed towards her brother. “What are you doing? I’m going to run into yooou!”

    Yet Landal stood frozen and Lista smashed with a BANG into her brother’s rump!

    Both lambs shot sky high into the air and over the sun!

    Landal whooped with joy. “Oh beautiful for spacious skies…!” he sang while lifting one hoof after the other, treading air in a timely march.

    Suddenly, the two lambs plummeted towards the ground.

    Lista screamed.

    The song he had heard yesterday continued to spring forth from Landal’s soul, “America! Ameri…”

    “Landal, how can you be singing?” Lista gazed down in horror at their appointed destination several feet below. “LOOK WHERE WE ARE HEADED?!”

    Landal halted mid-note and glanced below himself, but before he could make any exclamation—SPLOSH!

    The two hurtled head-first into the metal cans and paint splattered everywhere!

    Lista righted herself, looked down at her body, and wailed. “LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY BEAUTIFUL WHITE WOOL!”

    Landal sneezed scarlet paint as he popped up and gasped at the sight of his sister.

    Lista was dripping glaucous-blue paint from head-to-toe, except in a few places where white wool seemed to shine like stars. “Now I’ll never win first place at the county fair–who can take me seriously now?” She glared at him. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

    “Well, we wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t run into my bum!” He retorted.

    Lista scowled. “That would never have happened if you hadn’t stopped running!”

    “Well I couldn’t just run over a ladybug, could I?” Head held high, Landal hopped out of the can—only to fall into another one full of white paint!

    Lista's eyes popped out of her head. “You mean, you got me into this mess because of a LADYBUG?!”

    Just then, Farmer Maci flew up the hill. At the sight of her extremely patriotic and nosey lambs, she promptly dropped her newly collected paint brushes.

    “Well,” Landal said slowly, the realization of the trouble they were in dawning upon him. “At least we know what was in the cans!”

    Lista fainted.

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About the Author:

Having a heart towards heartwarming, wholesome tales, Lyla Elizabeth Y. writes stories in the hopes they will bring happiness and healing, always finding ways to write a chicken into every one (this is the one story that doesn’t fulfill that role)! When Lyla isn’t scouting mystical lands or making mischief with her written friends, you can find her spending time with her large family (consisting largely of chickens, which you must find surprising), reading, playing her violin, and finding ways to spread God’s amazing news and love. Below, Pepper the Columbian Wyandotte, the oldest and last original flock member, had the honor to be plucked out of her nesting box in order to be starred in this photo. No one knows if she ever laid that egg.

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