Greg stared down at the woollen mass quaking in the fields beneath him. The bleating was overwhelming, his eardrums were on the brink of bursting as the wooden boards under his feet shook in the writhing whirlpool of sheep.
In the far east of the pack, he could see an entity break into the herd – the fleeing hooves kicking up the dry, dusty soil. A short bark pierced the cacophony of baaing, revealing his sheepdog, Clary, breaking apart the rebellion. Greg had spent two long hours on the windmill; the sheep had accumulated in the blink of any eye, their mouths nipping at the wooden supports that held him aloft.
In a flash, Clary had sent the sheep packing – allowing Greg to hop off the windmill and run to his quad bike for a quick getaway. Clary hopped on the quad bike’s back, barking to keep the marauders at bay while the quad’s engine roared into action, taking the pair out of the field to safety.
Today's Prompt: sheep dog
If you'd like to participate too, the contest can be found here: @mariannewest/day-1326-5-minute-freewrite-tuesday-prompt-sheep-dog