Doctor Ross – Doug Ross, in a more relaxed setting – is an eminent man. His office, standing room only. His reputation, so beyond impeccable, he’s flirting with legendary. This humble, proud son of Jackson Heights, the apple of his mother’s eye, no longer just a medical man among many. Once the accidental discovery, a flip through the Yellow Pages, now in demand. Sought out. So many appointments, he had to hire another girl. He has reached his zenith. Until Daisy. His practice, seemingly iron clad and ready to be handed down to generations of Ross men, teetering on the brink. Only he didn’t know it. Because she had yet to cross his path. His destiny, once tucked away in the hills of Armenia, now up close and personal. The beginning of the end.
The day began like any other. Prescriptions to fill, coughs to stifle, pain to alleviate. Suddenly, there is Stavros Milos. A simple man – a shepherd, in fact – but a man of sincere passion. He is desperate. Panic-stricken. He is in love with a sheep. Dr. Ross is confused (he is not a veterinarian, after all), but his oath demands that he listen. “One night last summer,” Milos begins, “I could stand it no longer.” The “it” being a lust for pleasures of the flesh, made worse by his solitary life. There were no women about. Only Daisy. He continues: “I took Daisy off into a little cove and there, under an Armenian sky, had sexual intercourse.” With a sheep? Yes, with a sheep. “It was the greatest lay I ever had,” he offers, without a trace of shame or embarrassment. The good doctor is appalled, but he doesn’t lose his cool. He wants to call the police or perhaps have Milos touch base with a psychiatrist, but first, he must meet Daisy. She’s downstairs in my van, no trouble at all.
You see, Daisy has fallen out of love with Mr. Milos. Once full of life, she’s now cold, indifferent. Setting her down on the doctor’s desk, she is a sight to behold. “Isn’t Daisy beautiful?”, Stavros asks. Dr. Ross agrees. But that’s not the point. She’s a sheep. There are more appropriate places to take her. Let’s start with a booby hatch. Ever the professional, however, the doc plays along. “Hello, Daisy, I’m Doctor Ross.” He touches her. The touch becomes a stroke. The stroke, soon an all-out fixation. He’s in. “I’d like to see the two of you again,” he whispers, knowing full well the implications of his decision. The die has been cast. In that single moment, when human hand met lamb’s wool, an entire life – a world really – was shattered. There was no going back. Not this time.
That same evening, Dr. Ross is caught by his wife fondling his lamb’s wool sweater. A sweet, almost naïve tenderness has become a full-fledged obsession. There are more visits. As if by the mandates of the universe, these visits become assignations. Hotel rooms on a secret credit card. Jewelry is purchased. Feelings are shared. Stakes, never higher. “I love our L-shaped room,” he sighs, post-coital bliss his new oxygen. But he gets careless. Clumps of wool are found, like lipstick on the collar. His wife is suspicious: “Darling, is it my imagination or do you always smell from lambchops?” But she’s still in the dark. These are dots not even the most maniacal mind would connect. A nurse, yes. Even a patient. But this patient? Dr. Ross still has some time in the sun.
Soon, the jig is up. Caught red-handed, because a wife knows. One evening, the doors burst open. Ross has to think quickly. “This is Mrs. Bencours, one of my patients! She thinks she’s a sheep! That’s all!” That’s all. As if the lie could erase the sort of betrayal Mrs. Ross couldn’t have imagined in a thousand lifetimes. A marriage ended not because of a buxom blond, or even a restroom tryst with a gym buddy. Everything upended because of a sheep. Admittedly, no ordinary sheep, but a sheep nonetheless. Daisy. From Armenia, in case you missed it. As expected, this will not end happily. Stavros Milos will return. He will learn of his own betrayal. And he will take Daisy back to the safety of his mountain cove. For Dr. Ross, a brutally sad climax. No wife, no practice, not a cent to his name. And now, no sheep. All because of a gentle touch that unleashed a whirlwind.
Though one of the movie’s several brief segments (in this case, the “What is Sodomy?” section), a full, epic tragedy unfolds in the spirit of a Russian novel. Dr. Ross, as played by the incomparable Gene Wilder, is a stand-in for the all-too-typical human male who, despite love, respect, success, and fulfillment, throws it all away because surely, there’s something better around the corner. Woody Allen’s theme of chronic dissatisfaction writ large. Because yes, a learned man with everything to lose would in fact set fire to the whole damn thing for something, anything, not his wife. And Daisy being Daisy, it matters not that the relationship in question is wholly one-sided. Or with another species. Hell, that’s arguably the appeal. No voice of dissent, no discussion, no push to be more or less, depending on the shrew’s mood. An experience always on the uptick. She goes where I say because, well, I can carry her like luggage. And despite shelling out for the Ritz, she’ll be content with a plate of grass instead of the standard champagne and caviar. Even if you’ll end your days chugging Woolite on a lonely curb.
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