Today was our first shearing of the goats. The boys were pretty shaggy, and having trouble seeing around the mops on their heads.
Our lovely shearer was very patient and gentle with them, and made a point of talking to them and calling them by name as he worked. Newton and Darwin submitted quietly, looking like a bag of wool with hooves as they lay on their backs. Einstein was more indignant—he bleated the whole time, as though he was being tortured.
Of course, once they were shorn, they didn’t recognise each other, so they had to re-establish their dominance hierarchy. Artemis, the remaining dairy goat (still herd queen, of course), was offended—she spent the afternoon nipping them all on the bottom.
I feel a little bad for the boys—it’s going to be a chilly night tonight—but they seemed relieved to be free of the weight of all that fur.
Now I have two big bags of mohair…I suppose it’s time to learn to spin.