When we sheered Sevilla:
We tried putting Sevilla on her butt, and she kicked me in the face.
We tried tying Sevilla to the fence to keep her still, and she broke free.
We tried tying Sevilla to the other fence to keep her still, and she broke free.
We tried holding her really tightly, and that worked for awhile, but then we were in too much pain to continue.
With every attempt, though, I cut off more and more of her wool with the child safety scissors, until we had a heavy garbage bag full of wool.
It took about an hour and a half. Little Z came out while we were still holding Sevilla really tightly, but already had a bag of wool sitting next to us, and she said,
"Wow! Is that a whole bag of wool?"
"What? What? Holy-- Yeah, that's a whole bag of wool. Good lord! What the-- Hold still--"
"Can I carry it back to the house?"
I had horrific images of a big wind coming up and all of the hard earned wool being sacrificed to the god of careless but well meaning kindergarteners, so I said,
Little Z lurked for a bit longer, watching.
"Can I please carry the wool back to the house?"
"What? No! I already said no!"
I may have not had as much patience as usual, considering I was straddling a sheep and contorting myself sideways around some big horns to get at the wool on the side of Sevilla's neck.
Before I knew it, I could hear Little Z screaming and crying, echoing up the valley as she walked back home and yelling some incoherent babble about us being the worst parents ever and we never let her help and it was her job to carry the wool and did she mention we were the worst parents ever? Sobbing. Yelling. Echoing. Loud. I'm sure that Ian and Anne, who were having their wedding up the road (according to the signs) were extremely pleased to have that little glimpse into their possible future. We're glad to be of service, Ian and Anne. Congratulations.
When we finally "finished" (gave up), I went back to the house and found Little Z, who had stopped crying and was playing by herself.
"Do you want to carry the wool in?" I asked.
So I walked with her, and she carried the wool in. Then she took a little bit of wool and made a heart "blanket".
No, that's not cat vomit. Nor is it a dead bat. It's a heart shaped dollhouse rug made from artisanal raw Jacobs sheep wool. My daughter is an artist.
And if that isn't enough reason to have sheep, well, I don't know what is. And then there's this:
I can only dream of aspiring to such heights.