You can smell sheep coming.

I didn't know that, and the inevitability of this phenomenon is not worth mentioning to anyone who grew up with them close to their nose (goats are much worse, as I now know).

But I grew up in Berlin-Wilmersdorf when this part of the city had long since ceased to be a village. My contact with sheep there was essentially limited to the board game "Settlers of Catan," and even then, their absence was often painful, whether for the desired purchase of a development card (base game) or the acquisition of a knight (Cities and Knights expansion).

Sheep, then. How did I come to that conclusion? Oh, right: Yesterday, the shepherd was driving his flock past our house in Transylvania once again. And I noticed something: Even before you hear the bell of the lead ram or any bleating from the rest of the flock, these woolly and endearing creatures announce their approach in advance, in their characteristic way, with a fragrance; that inimitable blend of tart, metabolically produced base notes and floral top notes emanating from the ruminating front end.

According to unverified sources, Romania has almost half as many sheep as people. Some overlap is possible. Sheep farming, especially in Transylvania, apparently has a particularly venerable tradition. Dr. Ciprian Ghisa, then Deputy Director of Transylvania College/The Cambridge International School in Cluj-Napoca (Klausenburg), noted in a valuable article for the journal "OST-WEST. Europäische Perspektiven" in 2017: "The most famous Romanian shepherds and sheep breeders came from the region around Sibiu" (German: Hermannstadt).

Not only in this region of Romania, during the times of scarcity under the deranged Stalinist "Conducator" Nicolae Ceaușescu, were people grateful to know one of these famous sheep farmers who could discreetly conjure up a bit of mutton for the occasional favor. Less discreet, however, are the houses in the villages of some wealthy shepherd families high in the mountains, who for generations have competed to display more columns, bay windows, and marble than their neighbors.

Owning sheep, a harmless stroke of luck in the game Catan that at most yields victory points, can still pay off in Romania – supposedly even without trading, selling, shearing, or slaughtering a single animal. This unusual business model was, in any case, the background to a court case that recently brought a shepherd and a garden owner before the judge in the county seat responsible for Kleingroßdorf.

It's August, and it's hot in the offices of the county seat. Besides the town hall and its associated departments, it also houses the courtroom of the local court. And currently, a rather disgruntled judge, who is asking the court attendant for the umpteenth time when the promised repair crew will finally arrive to fix the broken air conditioning.

“No problem,” says the subordinate, bowing and pulling out his mobile phone again. No signal.

The judge sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. It had been a long day. The last case for the day was to be called. It hadn't been that long ago, less than three weeks. Sometimes, though very rarely, legal proceedings in Romania move quickly.

The judge opens the file. A commotion erupts outside the courtroom door. “Cutthroat!” – “Crapist!” – “Exploiter!” – “Monster!” This is followed by several derogatory remarks typical of the Romanian language, referring to the orifices of close female relatives and to a stallion's genitals.

Security intervenes and separates the two brawlers. They are brought before the judge individually.

First, Vasile Andrei, a sheep farmer by trade, with no prior convictions. The judge, with a stern look, directs him to the seat to the right of his desk, next to the window. Then Bogdan Stoica enters the courtroom, a retiree with a prior conviction for assault. He owns a sizable property in Kleingroßdorf, where he lives in a substantial house with a large garden. With a commanding nod, the judge sends him to the left, as far away from Vasile as possible.

Both opponents have waived their right to legal counsel, glaring at each other, but now remaining calm. The judge's authority is evident, even though the portly high-ranking official is sweating like, well, can one say it: a pig.

But this is about sheep. Specifically, Vasile's sheep, the Cioban (shepherd). "So," says the judge, looking sharply at each of the defendants in turn, before continuing: "The plaintiff"—a nod in Vasile's direction—"claims that the defendant"—now Bogdan is targeted—"made use of his sheep's mowing service without paying for it. Is that correct so far?"

Vasile nodded, but Bogdan roared: “Mowing service? Don’t make me laugh! Nobody invited their stinking sheep to raid my well-kept garden! The garden gate was open for an unguarded moment, and then they invaded and ate everything bare!”

“Bogdan is an idiot and doesn’t know anything about gardening,” bleats the sheep owner Vasile back. “A well-kept garden? His grass is knee-high because he’s too lazy to mow it! My sheep have done him a favor!”

"Quiet!" demands the judge, undignifiedly unbuttoning his second shirt button; it's simply too hot, and these two guys are getting on his nerves. He points his index finger at Vasile. "So you, as the plaintiff, expect the defendant to pay you for your sheep mowing his lawn, even though he didn't ask your flock to do it?"

Vasile caves and becomes meek. “Well, a commission – that’s just a formality, isn’t it? It just happened that way, and the garden looks much better now…”

“He got free green fodder for his bleating gang,” Bogdan fumed. “He should actually be paying me for it!”

“An interesting point,” said the judge, for whom the intricacies of legal interpretation are clearly second nature. “Do you wish to file a complaint yourself in this matter? However, I must point out that this could be considered petty theft, a minor offense not worth prosecuting, although precedents for such cases involving sheep are likely scarce, even in Romania. I would advise you to carefully consider your next steps.”

Then the judge turned to Vasile. “You, too, should have thought carefully about your lawsuit. I could dismiss it and order you to pay the court costs. Speaking of dismissing lawsuits: Please step forward, Mr. Andrei.”

Vasile does as he is told. The judge studies his face. "Is that a healing black eye?" Vasile nods. "Could that perhaps be related to your altercation with Mr. Stoica?" The now intimidated Vasile hesitates, then shakes his head.

“Well, splendid,” said the judge. “I assume you’ll withdraw your lawsuit, thus saving yourself costs, and not show up here again suing for assault. The whole matter is dismissed as trivial. The Romanian state will bear the costs due to, uh, special circumstances. Further details in my reasoning; I’ll think of something.” He sighed. “Hopefully.”

Bogdan laughs triumphantly. The judge smiles smugly and instructs him: “You, Mr. Stoica, will henceforth open your garden gate once a week for Mr. Andrei’s herd. That will do your lawn good, since you seem to have such difficulty with the scythe. This is, of course, not a judgment, but merely a recommendation. However, bodily harm could also be prosecuted by the state, as you are surely aware.” Bogdan looks down and nods.

The two fools slink away. As I said, it's been a long day, and the judge is still sweating even though he can finally take off his robe. The question of what fails more often in Romania—air conditioning, the rule of law, or common sense—may continue to trouble him, but it must remain unanswered here.

However, we do not want to leave unmentioned what Wikipedia says about Wallachian sheep, thus documenting that, unlike with dog owners, master and shepherd do not necessarily have to be the same in the case of sheep owners: They are adorned with a “lively expression” and “noble appearance”.

They still stink, though.