Boys’ shear joy as bits skip the clip
Warm and wet, perfect conditions for grass – hopefully we’ll have a bumper crop if we get the heatwave we need.
In between showers we’ve clipped a few sheep – those closer to the farm, the late lambers and the tups.
It was a real sign of the times when Clive agreed I could clip the old boys as he served teas to the ramblers.
He’s usually fiercely protective of his tups.
“Just be careful,” he said gruffly as he left me in the pens with three fearsomely large woolled tups.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m feeling strong.”
“It’s not thee I’s talkin’ about,” he said “T’owd fellas.” I told him in no uncertain terms I’d be super careful. Most sheep we clip are yows – females – all much the same physical mould.
Your brain slips into automatic pilot. You know every single curve of their anatomy, how to hold the sheep with your legs and stretch her so the skin is wrinkle free.
It’s a race against the clock, sheep aren’t so fond of sitting still – great sweeps of the hand piece across their bellies, swathes of wool dropping to the floor.
One has to focus when you have the boys to do – one great sweep across the tummy could render him unable to perform vital duties.
It’s early in the season and I’m not on top form yet… but they went away intact, though perhaps not the neatest job.
“Never worry,” I said to Clive. “There’s only a week between a good haircut and a bad one.”