statements indeed were true. Hari could crop more grass and bleat
more loudly than anyone else. The thing he was no good at was
following. The secret of happiness, he decided, must lie in
following; and that would require persistence.
So he determined to
follow no matter how badly he was snubbed. He forced himself to join
the groups that gathered in the mornings to the west of the trees
and in the afternoons to the east of them. And when the group moved
away he followed, bleating as normally as anyone about the newborn
lambs and the state of the meadow.
Slowly he became as
normal and respectable as the best of sheep. As time went on he
joined the Rams' Club and took to discussing the flavour of various
grasses and the relative merits of the young ewes. This last
inspired in him an inexplicable repugnance, which he considered
abnormal and tried hard to overcome. He laughed as loudly as any
rain and told a story much better. And although the whole matter of
sex revolted him, no one knew it. He even hid it from himself,
attributing it to the fact that the right ewe had not yet come
along. While this fastidiousness was not altogether normal in a
young ram, it was acceptable enough. In the meantime, Hari talked
very big, and, far from being avoided, he was sought after.