My ticked off sheep complained loudly to me

March 31, 2008 – I always forget what sheep shearing is like – a sort of marathon mud wrestling match with falls, kicks, dirt, in this case cold and rain, and much fatigue. Legendary
shearer Fred DePaul is a maestro, and his stories along are worth the time. Sheep love to be shorn, they feel lighter, cleaner, friskier, but they do not love the process. Sheep live by sight, not smell, so they get confused after shearing, and don’t recognize one another at first. Nor do the donkeys recognize them, so there is considerable squawking, braying, baahing and anxiety that goes on for a day. Fred arrived at one and leave just after 8 p.m, and while he didn’t seem tired, Annie and I were both done in. We had to wrestle each sheep into the shearing area, and nobody wanted to go.
  In between, Fred regaled us with stories of unfaithful and drunken farmers – he never reveals names or identies – and stories of sheep dramas. Fred has been kicked, bitten, knocked down and mangled by machines more times than he recount. He is a great shearer and a great human. It is quite remarkable to see him work, how easily he handles the sheep, how efficient his simple equipment is, how much he loves his work and his life.
  He is a modest man, who always charges a ridiculously low amount of money in case people can’t afford to pay him, and the sheep go untended. So you have to give him more than he asks, and he never asks for food, so you have to provide some. Farmers call back and forth to let each other know where Fred is, how he’s faring, where he’s going next.
  I used Rose to get the sheep into the barn, Izzy to move them around inside. Both dogs did beautifully. I am, frankly, too tired to write more, so I will post some photos tonight and tomorrow, and then go to sleep.