Shearing Sheep Sucks
Shedding Sheep, Shed
I’m not really a sheep person. I have sheep, have had sheep for years, but they are mostly to use in training the stockdogs, and to supply meat to the local ethnic community.
The Hispanic and Muslim buyers love my sheep, because we don’t mess around with them. No shots, no additives, raised humanely and naturally.
And, I’m told, they are right tasty.
I tried. I really did. But cooking, not being my wheelhouse to begin with, just made the finicky business of making sheep edible pretty much out of the question.
I’ve had my sheep, as prepared by my buyers, and it’s outstanding. But, those guys just get all sidetracked by their damn families and other obligations, making it impossible to get them to cook for me on a regular basis.
It’s okay. I can do a mean beef stew, and smoke a brisket that’ll bring tears to your eyes.
I got my first sheep back in 2006. They were Barbados Blackbelly ewes that were bred to a Dorper ram. 1 had twins; the other two, singles. They were wild looking, black, splashed white in weird places. I learned what a TGH spot was (white splash on the top of the head, aka Two Grey Hills marking).
I learned that even sheep people thought my sheep were either goats, or the very rare geep (sheep X goat cross).
But, they worked really well for the dogs. Too flighty for dogs with little to no herding instinct left, they challenged talented dogs to learn to really read their stock. And, they made me a better stock handler at the same time.
Over the years, working to up parasite resistance and good, solid feet, I added some different breeds. North Country Cheviot, a wool breed, was probably a mistake, but it did make for faster gaining lambs. Katahdin back many generations ago, when added to the mix, got the parasite resistance up to my standard of worming every other year, if I thought about it. St. Thomas finally gave me the lovely, hard and foot rot resistance feet that I almost, but not quite, already had. Navajo-Churro, a wool breed, gave me (according to my buyers), a leaner, sweeter, more tender meat.
And, now I’m back to a full blooded Katahdin ram in Eddie. His first lamb hit the ground Thanksgiving day, out of my half blood Navajo-Churro ewe.
But, the shearing part. Shearers are an odd lot. They know they are pure gold to sheep people, and act accordingly. They decide if they will even grace you with their presence, then demand the royal treatment if they show up. Like the driver who picked up our milk at the dairy, if the shearer arrives, only to find you poking the last few sheep into the catch pen, he is likely to simply turn around and leave because you have delayed him.
NEVER question what a shearer is doing to your sheep, lest he pack up and leave you with a pregnant ewe 1/4 shorn and 12 more waiting in the wings.
Good luck finding another shearer to finish the job. And in the meantime, you’ll have to keep those sheep under cover and semi starving for as long as it takes to maybe get another shearer to consider putting you on the schedule for 3 weeks from now. At which time, you’ll call, and call, and call, and never hear from him again.
The good news is, not all breeds of sheep need shearing.
The bad news is, they will shed, and rub, and shed some more, all over your pastures. Which is good for wildlife, looking for coarse, pokey hair to line nest and burrows with. Or, your top working stockdog will snarf down wads of wafting hair, only to puke it all up in one disgusting, vile smelling, sticky blob on your bed at 0145 in the morning.
So, I only have two that need shearing, Pogo and Willa, and they are actually pretty easy to deal with. My sheepy neighbour gets her shearer in, we walk the girls across the road with the help of Cricket, and get them sheared once a year. A friend is making a rug out of Pogo’s wool, but since Willa is a half breed, her wool is mixed with hair, thus useless to anyone but people who do felt work.
Everyone else just makes my pasture look like the secret used Kleenex burial grounds.
