Firm.
Absolutely final.
“I have to leave. I have an interview. You can’t stay there!”
The sheep deliberately turns his head away and ignores me.
“Ragnar. Move. I do not have time for your games.”
Hamish arrives behind me and bleats too.
The sound somehow translates perfectly into: Good luck with that.
I climb into my car and start the engine.
Ragnar doesn’t so much as blink.
I can’t move forward.
I can’t back up.
Desperate, I honk the horn.
Nothing.
I honk again.
Longer this time.
The sheep yawns.
“You are unbelievable!” I shout through the windshield.
I climb back out and march toward him, pointing an accusing finger.
“Listen to me carefully, you authoritarian wool blanket. I have a very important interview. I need to drive thirty minutes to get there. If you do not move immediately, I swear I will?—”
Ragnar tilts his head and watches me with what looks suspiciously like patient condescension.
“You are mocking me.”
He bleats.
I genuinely cannot think of a solution.
I’m still standing there glaring at my car.
Ragnar is still lying in front of the hood.
Hamish has settled nearby like an especially invested referee.
“Ragnar, please.”
Nothing.
“I’m begging you.”
The sheep closes his eyes.
