Dream a Little Dream

Lucy at the beauty parlor.

     Usually I wake up in the morning feeling great.  Well rested.  I can easily convince myself that the decaf I'm drinking is actually leaded.  Today, not so much.  In fact, not yesterday either.  
     It's after noon and I'm sitting here nursing another cup of Two Roasting Joes spiked with loads of sugar and cream to help me along through schooling Young'un.  I think I might feel human again soon.
     I know, I know, now you're wondering why.  Well, you see, I've been shearing sheep day and night.  Yes, I said night, too.  It's like a never ending shear fest.
     I spent a good chunk of Saturday and most of Sunday shearing.  I'm in no way a professional. I use the old fashioned hand shears and don't follow the guidelines.  Why? Because I'm me and when it comes down to the nitty gritty of it, the way I do it is what works.  It takes me a long time to get to the end results because we both get a little nervous around the front of the neck area, privates, and the flappy bits of skin at the legs, but when I reach the finish line I have a well skirted fleece to work with and a happy to be cool again sheep.
     I don't have a shearing stand, although it would be nice.  Instead, I pick out my wooly victim, run around like an idiot until I catch her (ahem, or him - I really need to learn how to lasso), get a harness on her, tie her to the stall, and get down to business.  If the lucky winner isn't cooperative, I have a way with bracing her up against the wall with my hip and getting the job done.  Sometimes I'll utilize one of the family to help if I have an extra unwilling participant.  Either way I get 'er done.
     Here's the problem...  Shearing has crossed over into my dreams.  I've spent the last two nights shearing all night.  Alllll. Niiiiiiight.  I close my eyes and next thing I know *WHAM-O*  I'm shearing sheep. It's never ending.  There's a line up of sheep just waiting for my attention.  Well behaved sheep, reluctant sheep, big sheep, little sheep, horned sheep, polled sheep, sheep with spots ~ I think you get the picture.  It's just me, my hand shears, a rope harness, and sheep.
     What's not fair about it isn't just the lack of sleep because I'm working so hard in my dreams, but the fact that I look like I've lost a good 10 lbs from all the work...and they never pee in my boot when I'm working at the back.  When I wake up I'm bone tired, stiff, and the weight I lost is mysteriously back.  GAH! I won't even get into what's on my clothes (or in my boots) from daytime shearing after I've been sitting, kneeling, and scooting around on the barn floor. 
     So there you have it, folks.  That is why I sit here enjoying yet another cup of leaded Two Roasting Joes heavily laced with sugar and cream.  I've been shearing during the day and I've been shearing throughout the night.  Next time you're counting sheep to go to sleep, just remember when they leap over that fence as you drift off they're leaping into our pasture for me to get to work on.  Little Bo Peep's sheep are also here.  So are the sheep from the Serta mattress commercials.  All sheep, it seems, eventually end up in my dreams.  Time to get a move on. I don't have much daylight left before it's time to get back to work.  Smiling & Waving, Sharon 
     

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