poor put-upon ram

A few days ago the ewes and their lambs were joined by a single ram, one Atticus, and a fine handsome fellow he is, with a deep resonant baaaaaaaaahh that makes him a veritable Gregory Peck among sheep.  Nevertheless, set down without ceremony in the midst of two smaller females and their little ones, our handsome fellow indulged in precious little strutting.  Quite to the contrary, he was so mercilessly sneered at and belittled by the ewes that he ended by standing an hour or two with his head in the corner, refusing to budge.  He finally crawled underneath a corner platform, out of reach and out of sight, watching the day wane and dreaming of his lost bachelorhood.  I thought to console him, but could think of nothing to say.  Had I any, I would have offered him a snort of whiskey from my flask, but alas I was dry.  I offered him a dandelion instead, but he was too disconsolate to take it.