Yes, it's that time of year again, the shearing of the sheep. I can hardly wait! NOT! I don't know what happened. I used to enjoy this sort of thing. It used to be fun. But one day, I can't remember when, I woke up and discovered that I had turned old! Where was that strapping 6 footer plus that could hold a 200 pound ram with one hand while artfully removing a winters worth of fleece? He isn't in my mirror anymore. He's been replaced by some grouchy old guy, with an aching back and barely the strength to hold a coffee cup in one hand and a donut in the other!
Well, no use griping, just get it over with. I got the first 3 out of the way, with no open wounds on my person yet. Only 37 more to go. I bought a new Heiniger shearing plant and handpiece. What a difference professional equipment makes. It sure beats that heavy old Oster Shearmaster I was using. I can still feel my fingers after 3 sheep!
Got another 5 out of the way. Only 70 left to do. The lower back is starting to complain. I'm glad I thought to include a bottle of Motrin in my day pack. Maybe one does become smarter with age?
12 more done. I managed to get the wool off a Oh, so thankful, bouncing, 3 year old ram. He showed his appreciation by swinging his massive 3 foot horns into the side of my head. I didn't need that particular bicuspid anyway! The joys of Jacobs Sheep and their massive armaments! Only 250 left to go.
10 more done. My back packed up and went home about 15 sheep ago. My coffee tastes like blood through no fault of it's own, it's the drinking through a mouth that previously held a healthy bicuspid that imparts that wonderful flavor! While trimming the hooves on Baldric, the herd sire and #1 ram, he decided that it would be great fun to rake me in the testicles with a hoof that wasn't being worked on at that particular moment. Oh well, I don't need that particular piece of anatomy anymore anyway. Since my back packed up and went home, my tooth went flying in the manure and now my testicles are crying foul and waving a white flag, I keep reminding myself what a great idea it was to blow my life's savings on a farm. Look at all the fun I'm having! Only 1,764 left to go!
10 more done. Rasputin, the Great Pyrenees decides he is going to help by sneaking up on the holding pen and making the unshorn sheep jump out and run all over the lower pasture. It's great fun to watch me hobble around, with no lower back, absentee testicles and newly toothless, trying to drive them back in the pen. I wonder what time the animal shelter closes??? Only 146,346 left to go!
Well, I'm finally done. It's getting dark, the sheep are milling around, commenting on each others haircuts. They actually look good. Now on the other hand, I am amazed at the transformation in myself. When I got up this morning, I was a reasonably healthy 51 year old guy, with a full set a teeth, a fully functional reproductive tract and a lower back, although misbehaving at times, rarely AWOL. What I see looking at myself now is a hunchbacked, toothless, eunuch, covered in squished manure, blood, a smattering of Dr Naylor's Blu-Kote and the occasional sheep tick. And I ask myself, "Is all this worth it?" You betcha! But next year, I'm switching to chickens!
No comments:
Post a Comment