Every Sheep Shorn

by Avery Thompson of Richland, WA
photos by Christine James

I set up my handpiece, taking the time to align the blades until they are just right. I oil my equipment at all the joints, then walk over to the sheep pen. I gently but firmly grab hold of one and guide her over to my station. With a slight turn of her head and some pressure on her hip, I direct her into a sitting position and rest her on her rump in between my legs, facing outwards. I pick up my handpiece, pull the chord on the motor and begin shearing this ewe’s belly. From her belly my handpiece travels down one back leg and over to the other. A few strokes up her leg, all the way to her spine, and then I take a small step forward and pull her up slightly so I can shear up her neck and around her face. I clear all the wool off her left shoulder, then lay her down on her side and shear all the way up her body, tail to ears. I do a few more of these long, full body strokes until her left side is completely free of wool. Then, I roll her up gently and shear across her right shoulder, down her right side, and finish on the remaining back leg. As soon as I’m finished, I step back from the ewe as she stands up and runs back over to her flock. This process has taken just a few minutes, but I am dripping sweat and covered in lanolin and small bits of wool.

Shearing, when done by an experienced shearer, only takes a few minutes per sheep. The wool, besides what was shorn and discarded from the sheep’s belly, should come off the animal in one piece. Shepherds raising sheep for wool are extremely particular about how their sheep are shorn. They don’t want any second cuts – small pieces of wool that indicate that the shearer went over the same area twice – as this makes the wool less valuable.

For their own health and comfort, sheep need to be shorn at least once a year. Granted, sheep didn’t used to need to be shorn at all. It was human intervention through breeding specifically for wool growth that now requires yearly, or even biannual, shearing.

In a world of screens, notifications, and the pressure to multi-task, sheep shearing is a refreshing diversion from the digital world. It requires a great deal of both intention and attention, and there is something romantic about focusing on a task where you have to be both strong and delicate in your movements. As someone who raises livestock for a living, I may be biased in my romanticism of a sheep barn on shearing day. The hard work, satisfaction of seeing all the sheep standing in the pen fully shorn, and the gratitude expressed by the shepherds make for a solid day in my book.

Interacting with the owners may actually be my favorite part. It’s an interesting relationship shearers form with their clients. We see each other once, sometimes twice a year, and oftentimes, while I am bent over a sheep and they are bagging wool, we are catching each other up on the details of our lives, almost shouting to be heard over the sound of the shearing machine. A few of my clients stick out in my mind. There’s Brian and Michelle, a husband and wife who operate an organic farm and sometimes, on shearing day, sit side-by-side in a pile of discarded wool, holding hands while watching me work. They are my role models for a happy relationship, two people clearly in love with each other and the work they do. There’s Susan and Pat, an elderly couple with an ancient Angora goat, who always insist on having me pose for a picture with “Goatie” after she’s shorn. The interactions I have with these folks, my clients, are wholesome and genuine in ways I don’t find in other parts of my life.

Before I get too effusive about shearing, let me say that I can’t think of another task I perform in my life that, at times, brings such opposite emotions. On a good day, when everything is going right, I feel invincible. On a bad day, when everything feels wrong and the sheep won’t sit still or the blades inexplicably won’t cut, I inwardly vow to myself that these will be the last sheep I ever shear. But every sheep shorn is a lesson in patience and mindfulness, and for that, I’m grateful.

This work is important. It is the dirty, physically demanding manual labor much of our society tends to look away from. It not only has to be done, but it has to be done well, for the sake of the sheep. When sheep aren’t sheared regularly, their wool becomes heavy and matted. When they are finally shorn after years’ worth of growth, the heavy wool pulls on their skin, lifting it and making it easier for the shearer to cut the skin. I believe that as a shearer, I’m in a unique position to advocate for the animals and hopefully raise the standards of care within the sheep industry.

I’d like to say it’s the tough days that bring me back to shearing, season after season, because I yearn to do hard things and come out on the other side a better and stronger person. The truth is, it’s the good days that keep me shearing. Days full of “peelers”, the term shearers use to describe sheep whose wool just seems to peel off them easily. Days of driving around in my truck, covered in dirt, wool, and sweat, wearing my favorite pair of worn-out overalls. On these days, I can see with clarity how much I appreciate the simplicity of an honest day’s work spent in a barn with good company.