Llama Shearing: The Deed

Sedated llamas don’t look peaceful. They look dead. When I don’t see the rise and fall of Llambert’s abdomen, I put my ear to his nose and hear his nasally breath. Reassured that he’s alive – no need to shear a dead llama – I grab the shears. With gloved hands, I grab a clump of hair. It’s about eight inches long and holds bits of manure, dirt and straw. Placing the shears at the base of the hair, near Llambert’s skin, I clip. The clump separates from his body. I toss it aside, grab and clip another clump. Soon, I’m into a rhythm. Grab and clip. Grab and clip. Around me lie clumps of brown. I view my work. He looks like a kindergartener with school scissors trimmed him. The cut is uneven. Should I try to straighten it? I look at my watch. Forty minutes are passed. The vet says the sedative lasts about an hour. I’ve only clipped one side. The sheep won’t care what he looks like, I reason. When Llambert awakes, I’ve removed most of the long hairs. Several feathery wisps remain on his hindquarters. I try to clip those and he kicks. They give him an edgy look, I conclude as I remove his halter and let him to return to his sheep.