Rooing

We finally sheared the last sheep today, and she was that mythical, wondrous beast, She-who-roos.  Well, OK, She-whose-butt-roos. Rooing is pulling the loose fleece off a sheep that sheds naturally. Hair sheep shed, and some Shetlands do, too, according to what I've read. Well, we trekked out there lugging shears and tarps and bags and scissors (just in case). We easily trapped the fierce Tricks (who happens to be a Shetland) with oats, threw her to the ground (actually, it was mutual) and started to clip. And her fleece just pulled off. Wow. Turns out maybe a quarter of her fleece was loose, and the rest has to be clipped. And we still can't get the bloody sheep shears to work, so it's scissor time. But it goes along well. I sit there holding the sheep and C. does all the work – though I do get the highlights of the sheep burps.

Here she is before shearing. Or maybe it's a musk ox. I've always wanted to raise musk ox.

Rooing. The fleece pulls off, leaving a short coat behind.

What an attractive, rubbery nose. (No, the sheep!)

Maple leaves for good sheep

Azul is suspicious. What happened to his pal the musk ox?

Her fleece was too large for the bag, so C. tied it in the
sheet we used as a tarp.

So it was a dreary, rainy weekend, but we did get Tricks shorn, and the tomato ladders built and installed. I slept and slept. I tried to roast some vegetables but went off to work in the garden and torched them instead.