The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, can not and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheep dog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.
Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn’t tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, “Baa.”
Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.
Bingo.
Dave Grossman. One of my favorites.
None of us sheep, except the very oldest of us, have ever known a wolf.
We’re not sure he exists.
So we will start to be careless.
Wander into wolf territory. Then be shocked when one or two of our number don’t return.
But still not fear the wolf.
But... the wolf will eventually trace the strays back to the herd.
There we are today. The wolf waits in the low grass just out of smell range of the herd. Waiting for dusk.
Paraphrasing George Orwell: “people sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”