Sheep-shearing Sunday

Sunday on the farm was sheep-shearing day.  It was rather comical.  Forget what you might have seen at agricultural shows and demonstrations.  This was the actual daily grind sheep-shearing.[ad#ad-1]

Not all the sheep were shorn that day, but those destined for a haircut were rounded up into a pen.  The farmer drags one by the chest, protesting with a “Baa!” while her colleagues return in kind, front legs up in the air, hind legs dragging on the ground (kind of reminds me of me pulling the older kid when she refuses to be moved).  The razors go on – ziiiiiiiiiip! ziiiiiiiiiiiiiip! ziiiiiiiiiiiip!  All done in a few seconds, before she can let out another “Baa!”.  The farmer’s son balls up the wool and throws it into the pile with the rest.  From far away, I initially thought he had lifted up the shorn sheep and tossed it over the fence (an amazing feat for such a small one) until I later saw him handle a ball of wool.

Without their wool, these ewes look like little goats.  They also appear somewhat scrawny, but maybe that’s because I’m seeing lines where the razors had left some wool behind and it looks like ribs sticking out.

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