You might not expect a lamb to have much strife while in a china shop. The baaing beasts hardly seem the type to traipse around smashing the delicate glass as might, mayhaps, a bull. Mayhaps.

These conclusions you conclude, however, are all drawn, clearly, before you knew of the lamb named Sam.

Sam the Lamb, Samuel Fonsworthy the third, as his peers called him (in a mocking way, not a we-respect-you-and-therefore-refer-to-you-by-your-full-name way), was the youngest lamb of the herd. He had a horribly hideous hat that was always precariously perched on his bewoolen head that had been placed such by the farm-owner years and years and years ago, when Sam was incredibly young--although still younger than the rest of the lambs.

This hat was so large that it went all the way around his head and up over his eyes, down to his nose, restricting him from all ability to see.

Why didn't he just take the hat off, you ask--I know you do. Well, this horrible hat he'd hardly beheld with his own two eyes, was his most valued possession. Well it was his only possession, but that's really unimportant. He treasured the hat. The other sheeply beings, however, despised him for his hat-wearing. If ever he took the hat off, stolen would it be, drowned in a river, taken from him forever.

It was also clipped to his wool with clips his hooves could not unclip.

Mostly because of the other sheep stealing it thing, though, I'm sure.

What does this have to do with the china shop? Absolutely nothing, disregarding the fact that one cold winter morning, Sam the ever-blinded Lamb found himself surrounded by fine china of all sorts.

What was this place? he wondered in a mental whisper, afraid to disturb the china even with his thoughts.

Sam had always had an affinity for terribly tragic bad luck, and this occasion was really no exception. He had developed, of course, as all self-respecting sheep who lacked sight did, sonaric capabilities. You know, echolocation. Like a bat. So, maneuvering through the large stacks of china was really no issue.

However, as all unexpected things occur, the ground suddenly began to shake beneath his feet. The earth quaked with a terrible rumble and the glass began to crash to the ground around him, shattering into millions of little pieces.

Sam the Lamb, frightened to no end, darted toward the door, so as to escape these terrifying missiles that were being launched at him by the alluring pull of tectonically induced gravity.

As he finally reached the door and the magnificent majesty just outside this opening, his head was yanked suddenly backward, his horrible hat snagging on a terribly large, tarantulaeic, utterly unmoving table.

Sam did not let the surprise overtake him, and instantly began trying to pull the horrible hat off of his head.

Suddenly, inexplicably, tragically, the building that housed the china shop collapsed down upon Sam the Lamb and the tarantulaeic table keeping him there.

The End.