Lynn posted last week that it was time to for our little chubs of cuteness to get hair cuts. Saturday's weather was not ideal so Sandy came over yesterday afternoon instead. Lynn referenced that Sandy is a pro, and that she is. I, on the other hand, am not. My role in this was to document the process photographically. Easy peasy. Or not.
A smidge of perspective: I suffer from an overblown sense of protection for all of my animals. It doesn't matter the situation, safe or not. I react to their discomfort, their fear, their squeals. And I react strongly. It is primal. And it does not attach itself to logic even remotely. I am missing that necessary portion of the brain that balances reason and emotion in these situations. When I hear the whelp or cry of one of my brood, a shot rings through my body from my heart to my brain. The message is clear, stop the source of the discomfort. Stop it at all costs no matter who or what gets in the way. I transform into what I imagine the ancient Celtic warrior women were like. Part savage, part protector, part psychopath. In short, I am not the best choice for animal husbandry . Apparently it is generally not acceptable to place a Vet into a headlock or choke hold during routine exams. :) This is why I do not attend nail clipping sessions at the vet for Magnolia.
Round up
In order to shear a sheep you must first get a hold of one. Into the pen we went. (As though we could even begin to have a clue on how to do this.) Lynn moved behind them in an effort to guide them towards the shearing area. I was to the side to prevent escape and any wall surfing. Not sure what went wrong but in a flash of an instant Lynn was tossed into the air and slammed against the wall feeder by Tallulah. Score one for the sheep. Clearly they had a sense that something was up. Sheep are way smarter than anyone gives them credit for. A cloud of whirling hay was stirred up by the rampaging flock. (okay, there are only three of them and they each weigh only 100 pounds, but work with me here) These little lumps of cute were whizzing about the area. Lynn, now fueled by her pain was steadfast in her mission to secure a sheep. And she did. Delilah was the first.
The shear
Sandy deftly placed Delilah in a seated position and encouraged her to relax despite the circumstances. Not unlike our doctors telling us to relax while undergoing a PAP smear. Tallulah and Jemima were bleating (baaing) in protest over the abduction of their sister. Sandy switched on the clippers. The hand held clipper is attached to a 35 lb motor suspended in the air. These are not your hairdresser's clippers. In fact, they look like a medieval torture device. The noise of the machine further upset the girls so their bleats increased in volume and frequency. All the while I am clicking away with the camera in an effort to document. PING goes my heart. "Oh no, it is beginning." Are you familiar with the Hulk from Marvel comics? Well, it's kinda like that process with the exception of the whole turning green part. "Just keep taking pictures, it's all good." I told myself. Sandy is now half-way done and Delilah is compliant. The sound of the screams of her sisters however, has reached a fevered pitch. I grew dizzy as the protective chemicals released themselves into my bloodstream and coursed through my veins. "Must stop the source" Tears welled in my eyes as I furiously took pictures in order to distract the growing monster inside. (keep in mind that the only upset beings at this point were me, Tallulah, and Jemima. Everyone else was fine, including, and more importantly, Delilah.)
The machine noise stopped. The girls were still screaming, albeit less. Sandy assured us that they would be less upset when the second one got sheared. I was too far gone at that point to believe her. She was after all, the source of the pain and not to be trusted. Lynn and Sandy released Delilah back into the pen to be with her sisters. As they were preparing for this Sandy informed us that it would take a little while for them to get reacquainted. Sheep are very visual. In fact, they didn't even recognize her. In more fact, they ran from her and shunned her. WHAT? She took one for the team and this is how you treat her? I could not bear the injustice of it all. After a few minutes of "getting to know you" which was really "Let's act like old school witch burning New Englanders" it was time to select the next sheep. Jemima. Oh no, not my sweet and affectionate Jem. I realized at that moment it was time for my departure. My heart could not take the thought of my precious Jem-Jem going under the shears. Someone was going to pay dearly if I stayed. So I hung my head low and left. Defeated. A wimp of all seasons.
About half way to the house I decided that it was not acceptable for me to leave. I needed to fight this ridiculous beast that laid inside of me. I was stronger than it. And so I picked up my pace and entered the house for some sustenance for my fight. Liquid courage. A shot and one half. I also grabbed some water and Gatorade for the other humans.
I marched back into the abyss. There was no screaming this time, just the sound of the clippers. Jem was sitting in a relaxed position as though she were receiving a treatment at the spa. The monster inside me was retreating. Lynn turned around with a look of disbelief and surprise that I had returned. I picked up my camera and began shooting. It was, after all, my job.
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