The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Right by the fence at the far end of the pasture, an old sheepskin had been left behind long, long ago. It hung loosely over one of the wooden rails. Its wool had once been smooth and white, but now it had faded to a dusty gray. Nobody paid it any attention. The flock walked past without bothering to turn their heads. The shepherd made his rounds with his dogs every evening, and he never once stopped in front of such a worn old skin. So it simply hung there, still and silent, until one particular night.

This is one of the fables attributed to Aesop. It has been told and retold for generations, from the pastures of long ago to the present day.

The sheep in this story lived under very careful watch. The shepherd pitched his tent right at the head of the pasture. Every evening he counted the sheep one by one before driving the whole flock into the fold, and then he latched the gate tight. Several big, shaggy sheepdogs circled the pasture all night long, their ears pricked up for even the faintest sound. So for a long time, no creature had crept close to the flock without being caught.

At the edge of the forest not far away, a hungry wolf lay in wait night after night. His stomach ached with hunger, and every night he dreamed of a full meal among that flock. But whenever he inched toward the fence, the dogs would growl, and the shepherd would swing his lamp toward the noise. The wolf tried every trick he knew. He lurked at midnight. He lurked just before dawn. He circled around to the sheltered side, out of the wind. Yet each time he had to slink away empty-handed, his belly as hollow as before.

Then one night, as the wolf prowled near the fence as usual, he suddenly caught the smell of old wool drifting on the breeze. He followed that smell and found the sheepskin hanging on the wooden rail. No one was guarding it, and no one had cared to pick it up. An idea flashed into the wolf's mind at once. He pulled the skin down and threw it over his own gray, furry back. He tugged it until it covered him from the neck all the way down to his four legs. Then he stood perfectly still for a while, to be sure the skin would not slip off.

The next morning, while the first sunlight of the day was still pale, the wolf set out in his sheep disguise. He strolled out from the edge of the forest and slipped in just as the flock came streaming out of the fold to graze. From a distance, no one could tell the real sheep from the fake one. The wolf walked a little stiffly, a little out of step with the sheep around him. But in such a large and crowded flock, not one sheep took any notice. The shepherd, standing far off, only glanced over the flock and did not look closely at each animal.

All that morning, the wolf stayed hidden in the flock. He moved slowly from one patch of grass to the next, bending his head to nibble a few blades so he would look like the real thing. At one point a curious lamb came up close, its wet little nose sniffing at the strange smell clinging to the wolf's coat. The wolf stood stock still. He held his breath and pressed both ears flat so they would not twitch. The lamb looked a moment longer, then wagged its tail and skipped off to play somewhere else, without the slightest suspicion. The whole day passed peacefully like that. The sunlight came and went over the pasture, and nothing at all happened.

Late in the afternoon, the shepherd whistled for his flock. He drove them one at a time through the narrow gate and into the fold for the night. The wolf in sheep's clothing quietly squeezed in and followed along, head lowered among the jostling stream of sheep. Not a single person, not a single dog, noticed anything strange. The gate was latched tight as it was every evening. The whole flock lay huddled together in the fold, and the wolf lay right in the middle of them, the skin still covering him from head to foot.

Night fell, and the whole fold sank into silence. One by one, the real sheep curled up and lay down, breathing slow and even, drifting off to sleep. But the wolf was not used to lying still like that. His four legs kept twitching. His ears stayed pricked up, listening, and his eyes stayed wide open in the dark. The harder he tried to lie quietly and pass for a gentle, well-behaved sheep, the more restless and uncomfortable he felt. He kept turning over, first onto one side and then onto the other.

Before putting out his lamp and going to bed, the shepherd, as was his habit, walked once around the fold. He held his oil lamp high to count the flock one last time that day. Near the far end of the fold, the lamplight fell on a sheep that was still standing, hunched over. It would not lie down and curl up like the others. Its two eyes gleamed with a strange yellow light, nothing like the gentle eyes of the flock. The shepherd stopped short and frowned. Then he stepped closer to get a better look.

The shepherd reached out his hand, meaning to give the odd sheep a gentle pat and coax it to lie down like the others. But the moment his hand touched it, the loose skin on the outside slid down off one shoulder. Underneath was dark gray fur and a lean, hard, muscular body that looked nothing at all like a sheep. The shepherd jumped back in fright and let out a cry.

In a split second, the unmasked wolf sprang up and tore off the last of the sheepskin still caught on his back. He darted between the sheep, who were scrambling up in a panic and bleating loudly. Then he dashed straight for a gap between two rails of the fence. The wolf flew like the wind across the dark pasture, with the dogs barking hard behind him. In the blink of an eye he vanished into the deep forest. From that day on, nobody ever again saw that wolf prowling anywhere near the sheepfold.

Little by little, the fold grew calm again. The sheep stopped crying out. They pressed close together for a while, and then they lay back down to rest. The shepherd walked one more round, stroking each sheep until they were truly settled. The next morning, as the soft early sunlight spread across the pasture, the old sheepskin was found lying in the grass right by the fence. It was crumpled and caked with dirt, and no one ever bothered to pick it up again. The pasture was still green, and the dogs still wandered about on guard as on any other day. Only that faded sheepskin lay there, quiet in the early sun, as if it were telling the story of what had happened the night before.