Ricochet is the best place on the internet to discuss the issues of the day, either through commenting on posts or writing your own for our active and dynamic community in a fully moderated environment. In addition, the Ricochet Audio Network offers over 50 original podcasts with new episodes released every day.
Ovine Psychology: Sheeplock Holmes Cracks the Case!
Well, cross that off the list. Chez She’s Sheep Shearing (good grief, try saying that five times fast after a few glasses of Laphroaig) is done for another year.
Almost thirty years ago, I attended my first sheep-shearing class, a three-day lollapalooza thrown by the County Extension Office at the local fairgrounds. Paid good money for it. Brought my new shears with me; the victims sheep were supplied by a local farm. I came home with the 24×36-inch “How to Shear Sheep” poster covered in useful illustrations, and with a whole bunch of newly-learned techniques, “It’s not a matter of strength, it’s a matter of balance!” “Control them with your knees–your knees!” “Bend at the hips, not from your back!” And, most important, “Keep your fingers out of the way of the blades!” (I’ve only violated this rule in a meaningful way once in the intervening three decades).
When we weren’t learning how to position ourselves at precisely the right balance point so that the slightest wobble on the part of the sheep would result in the two of us ending up on the ground with the electric cord wrapped tightly around us both while the three-inch cutters on the shears whirred madly back and forth at about 3000 strokes a minute a few inches from my eyes, we were learning all the things that we could possibly do wrong: “Don’t shear off the pizzle hair!!” “If it doesn’t appear to have a full set of the family jewels, make sure it’s a ewe, not a wether, before you start shearing off the belly wool!!” Watch out for the dingleberries!!” “Shear across the wrinkles, not parallel to them!!” And so on.
But we made it through and nobody died (At least, I don’t think so).
I’ve done my own shearing most years since then. Oh, when we had a hundred or so in our flock, I would sometimes call in reinforcements, but, truth be told, I don’t like to watch others shear my sheep. I’m a terrible backseat shearer. I can’t stand to see the sheep nicked or cut (it’s inevitable that they are, and that is what the spray cans of antiseptic Blu-Kote and Scarlet Oil are for–if you’re of an artistic bent, and you use both of them judiciously on certain of the sheared population, you can produce what we call around here ‘patriotic sheep,’ a nice admixture of red and blue on a white background.) We’ve only had one truly memorable wound in all these years (not as a result of something I did, I hasten to add, but caused by a young man who set foot on my property just the one time). “Who would have thought the old sheep to have had so much blood in him,” as Shakespeare might have said, if he’d written a play about sheep, instead of Macbeth. I finally got it stanched with most of a five-pound bag of flour and several wadded-up washcloths, bound tightly with a couple of old pairs of pantyhose. That stayed on for about a week, and the sheep was fine, and at least “didn’t die hereafter.” Well, not for a good many years, anyway. I’ve not hired a shearer since.
In the intervening years, I’ve modified my technique considerably. I went to Angora goat shearing school during our Angora goat phase (their morphology is slightly different from that of sheep, their hair is finer than most wool, and they are more difficult to shear–most professional shearers won’t touch them), and I adapted some of the goat-shearing techniques to sheep, when it seemed to make sense and was easier for me. I attended a workshop with a world-famous sheep shearer (there are such–really) at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Show. His first question to me was “Do you shear the sheep standing up?” Somewhat mystified, I admitted that, yes, I did stand up when I sheared the sheep.
“No,” he said, “I mean with the sheep standing up.”
Oh, joy! Bliss! Rapture! No more balancing the sheep on its buttocks while squeezing with the knees, reaching around under the jaw with one arm and twisting the head, then drawing the clippers across the neck while hoping no blood gushed, and wishing for at least a third hand and for another six inches of leg so that my back would stop aching. Just put the sheep on a blocking stand a few inches in the air, to get it to a comfortable height, fasten its head down (all of that is a bit more difficult than it sounds, but worth it), go to town on the back, shoulders, flanks and outer legs, then take it off the stand, lie it down (there’s a nifty way to force it to lie down), stick your knee in that special place which renders it largely incapable of movement, and shear its head, belly and tail. Done!
That’s been my go-to technique for about a decade. I round the sheep up into one side of the barn, take them out one at a time and shear them, worm them and trim their hooves, then release them into the field. They don’t like it at all (just to be clear, I don’t ask for their permission before I shear each one), but I “get ‘er done,” as they say in these parts.
This year, as a result of exigent circumstance, I tried something different. And a miracle occurred.
I rounded the sheep up into the usual small pen (because it’s easier to grab them and heave them out of it if they can’t run far). But because I have not yet shoveled out the barn, I couldn’t get the blocking stand stable on the floor (too much hay). So, what’s Plan B?
Plan B, it turns out, was to go back into the confining pen, grab the alpha ram (Cricket), who weighs about 250 pounds, and who has an impressive set of horns. Fortunately, he’s also a total lovebug, and he allowed me to shear him standing up, in the pen with all the other sheep. He was quite affable and agreeable (bottle baby), and it went very well. Amazingly well, in fact. One or two of his ladies stood close by and made goo-goo eyes at him, and he smiled at them. It was a Hallmark moment.
Next, FDR, a smaller ram who had a form of polio while he was a lamb. And, he stood for me too, under the watchful eye of Cricket, who calls the shots for the younger guys in the flock, and bats them around if they misbehave or get out of line.
Then, a couple of the girls, who couldn’t take their eyes off their lord and master while I sheared them, and who totally forgot to be their usual idiotic, flighty, struggling, sheepish selves as they and Cricket gazed adoringly at each other.
It was marvelous. Actually, it was incredible. And as I sheared one relatively quiet and calm sheep after another, I began to wonder about what was happening, and eventually, I realized that it was nothing less than a microcosm of a little patriarchy in action. The head of the social unit, Cricket, enforces the societal rules, requires good behavior from the weaker males who look to him for standards of behavior (and if they violate them, they get soundly whumped), while the ladies enjoy his protection and his favor, and in return, they hold his attention, and, perhaps, civilize him a bit. I came to understand that shearing them on the ground in this tightly confined space, rather than dragging them out one at a time and up onto the blocking stand, allowed them to exhibit their normal social behavior with each other, with the unexpected side benefit that they became much easier to handle and deal with. Lesson learned, with sheep. Now I have to see if I can apply something similar to people (I’m not sure the analogy transfers exactly, although I think I’m on the right track).
But, before I get too enmeshed in overthinking that, it’s time for some Laphroaig. Slàinte mhath!
Published in Humor
Thanks for the come with, @she! Sir Paul and the first Lady McCartney’s “Heart of the Country” (Ram, 1972) comes to mind, for some reason…
I live very near the Taylor Bray Farm, which has an annual sheep shearing event. It is loads of fun. The farm is a house museum of sorts–it was built around 1780. One way they raise money is to have this demonstration for the public. We–especially my grandson–love the baby lambs.
They are beautiful! Have you ever seen a sheep-to-shawl contest? Teams, consisting of a shearer, spinners and weavers, do the whole thing from start to finish in a few hours. I’ve done a couple (as a spinner). It’s more pressure than I like, for something I enjoy, but it’s fun.
She sweety,
It’s been a long strange week and it’s only gonna be Wednesday tomorrow. Truly you are a multi-talent beyond compare.
Save me a little Laphroaig and a hearty Slàinte mhath to you too.
Regards,
Jim
Thanks Jim. Let me know when you’re around these parts again. There’s almost always a bottle somewhere around. Have a great Summer.
This is the most informative post since Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Concrete. I got tired just reading it.
BTW I’m calling PETA about you. And I also object to your cisgender anthropomorphizing.
lol. You should see the parts I left out. Starting with why I never eat lamb anymore. (BTW, my own “concrete” post would have been marvelously short. It would have gone, “I’m never doing a concrete project again as long as I live,” and that would have been that).
They do, indeed, hate sheep shearers. That is because they have never seen what happens to the sheep when it’s not done regularly (another thing I didn’t write about). Every so often one escapes into the Australian outback, and this is the result. Fortunately “Chris” was found and shorn. Many aren’t.
Oh, I dunno. I think there’s a pretty long tradition of using the sheep/shepherd metaphor to describe many aspects of our lives. Also, everything I know I learned from Beatrix Potter, so there’s that.
I was going to ask you about that. She was grand with the sheep as well and wondered if you’d picked up from her.
I can understand, but you’re missing the tastiest meat there is. Love Indian lamb dishes – especially lamb Mughlai. The Peshwari know how to make lamb truly delicious.
Do you make sheep’s milk cheese? Ricotta cheese made from sheep’s milk is outstanding.
This is another of your outstanding posts. And who would have known – from Northern Nigeria to sheep shearing in Pennsylvania. What a turn.
She’s one of my heroes. Shameless self-promotion alert.
Oh, I love lamb too.
I never have. The only time I milk my sheep is if I need to get some of the early mother’s milk to bottle feed one of the babies. It’s hard to get a meaningful rhythm going when you’re milking a sheep, it’s a fiddly business if you’re doing it by hand. But you are right about sheep’s milk cheese. It’s delicious.
Yes, well. I’m a great believer in what the man said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” And thanks.
There’s nearby restaurant that has the best Irish lamb stew. I’ve dreamed about it, and made Papa Toad take me the following evening!
That sounds crazy!
A friend of mine has a spinning wheel that I gave her after it was gifted to me by my mother’s friend. She raises sheep and shears and spins and sells her wares at local wool festivals. It was an antique style similar to this big wheel one:
She has the room for it and I don’t (not with the harpsichord my cousin willed me, the piano, the 1896 sewing machine…).
She also has spinning wheels that she actually uses.
Loved this, @she! I giggled all the way through. I suspect I’d end up on the ground more often than not. A wonderful story, especially the “cultural” observations! Thanks!
Thanks She. I know nothing about sheep shearing except that which I saw in the sheep-shearing scenes of the Robert Mitchum-Deborah Kerr movie the Sundowners. Below is the movie trailer;
Wow! This is just fascinating. Ricochet is so great because of exactly this kind of article. I would never learn about this kind of thing otherwise.
I think this is the best bit of prose I’ve read in at least a year.
I never cease to be amazed at the wide array of talents the Ricochetti possess. Makes we want to get a sheep and bring it to the next Meetup . . .
No! Not that!
Thank you so much for the very kind comments, everyone! I’m very fond of my little flock, no matter how maddening they can sometimes be. Did you know that if a sheep is standing sideways on a hillside, and it falls over with its legs facing “up” the hill, it can actually die in that position because it can’t figure out how to stand up? Never occurs to the silly thing to roll itself over so its legs are facing down the hill, and then get to its feet. Daft creatures.
This one is quite well-behaved. She does stairs quite well, and enjoys being in the living room. Maybe you could borrow her for the occasion?
The key there is the plural. Spinning wheels are like Lay’s potato chips, or rabbits; it’s impossible to have just one. Commiserations to your friend from a fellow sufferer . . .
Spinning with a great wheel, one similar to the one in your photo, is quite different from using a treadle machine.
Anyone who’s interested in the history of textiles, their role in the development of civilized societies, and how significant women’s roles were in the development of both, might enjoy Women’s Work, The First 20,000 Years, by Elizabeth Barber. It’s a wonderful book. “Feminism” at its best.
If I borrowed your sheep, what do I tell my wife?
“Oh, it’s a heated, vibrating pillow for the bed.”
FIFY.
Oh my goodness! I never thought about that! They really are dependent creatures. That brings a whole new dimension of understanding to some Bible verses.
One of my first thoughts when reading this…
Ah . . . full-figured . . . I like it!
Can I get away with this? One of my favorite tunes played by the guy who wrote it:
Yes, I don’t think it’s an accident that the metaphor is used so often.
Several years after we started shepherding sheep (we love Him, so we feed Them), Mr. She ruminated (an apt word, actually) that perhaps he’d been saying the first line of the 23rd Psalm wrong all his life, in that he usually put the emphasis on the word “Lord,” or, in one of the familiar musical settings, on the word “shepherd.”
He came to believe that the emphasis should be on the word, “my,” as he imagined David the shepherd-boy, probably tired, cold and dejected from chasing and looking after his sheep, sitting down one day and feeling sorry for himself, wondering who was taking care of him, and who was going to feed and nourish him. Until illumination dawned at a very personal level:
The Lord is my shepherd.
And it all follows from that.
Here is a book on the 23rd Psalm by a modern-day Shepherd: https://www.amazon.com/Shepherd-Looks-Psalm-23/dp/0310274419
The joy on Sir George’s face is a wonderful accompaniment to his playing! (That’s not like any lullaby I’ve ever heard, though.)
Cricket: “It’s called ‘sheepscaping’ and it totally turns on the ewes. You should try it.”
Ewe: ~swoon~