Her heart was beating into the palm of my hand like a drum. So incessant I wondered if she would pop out of her thin, fuzzy skin. She was shaking. Bleating echoed down the hallway. As I walked down the corridor carrying her in my arms, I wondered if she would wet herself.

I was thinking calm. Just that: calm. Calm. Calm. Calm.

I had never carried a lamb before. Let alone a terrified toddler lamb that somehow ended up on the second floor of my building, bleating for help. The moment I saw how terrified she was, how utterly out of this world she felt, stamping her feet and racing in circles, I saw she was going crazy with fear and need out.

I tried to direct her to walk out of the room, but she couldn’t see forward. So I picked her up from behind and cradled her in my arms, it didn’t even cross my mind that she would bite me. I just saw she needed to feel safe.

Of course, the fact that she was there for educational purposes didn’t help. The young children had no idea she was coming, so they were terrified and excited, too. So they screamed in that high-pitched tenor that only young children can scream. And they are city kids. Wild life to them is the packs of homeless dogs and cats that roam the streets of Istanbul. They can download computer applications in seconds, but how to behave around an animal? Fear strikes.

Her screaming was familiar but alien. And this would be funny if it were not for the fact that I was the one carrying the lamb, looking for the shepard. Conveniently,  he was no where to be found.

If only I knew that a week later, the same administrators would drop off the same lamb, just as terrified, but this time it would kick and scream. And nearly hit a child’s head in the meantime.

What a day.