If your mother got a haircut… would you still recognize her?
That was the thought rattling around in my head at the end of a long day, as the deafening sound of baaing followed me out of the barn that night.
It was shearing day. Not my favourite day, if I’m being honest.
Hannah the shearer pulled in mid-morning, and we had a full list ahead of us — 47 very pregnant ewes to start, followed by another 22 that were still raising young lambs. Busy little things, bouncing around, nursing every chance they got. The plan seemed simple enough: do the heavy ones first, then finish with the lighter ewes and the lambs. And to be fair… the plan worked. Just not for the reasons we thought it would.
By about 2 o’clock, the pregnant group was done and sent back out. Clean, lighter, probably feeling pretty good about themselves. Then came the real challenge. We had to separate the ewes from their lambs — just temporarily — so we could get them shorn.
Now… I should’ve known better.
Every time we wean lambs, there’s about a day of noise. Lambs calling, ewes answering back. It’s loud, but manageable. But this… this was something else entirely. These lambs are only about four weeks old. They’re not ready to be apart. Not even a little bit.
The second we pulled the first few ewes away, it started. And I mean started. Baaing. Calling. Answering. Echoing. We’d move five ewes through, shear them, and put them in a pen where they could still see their lambs… and somehow that made it worse. Each group just added another layer to the noise. It kept building, louder and louder, until earplugs went in and we just leaned into it. At one point, Hannah picked up the pace… almost like she was trying to keep up with a heavy metal concert. And honestly, that’s about what it sounded like.
Eventually, we got through them all. So I figured, alright… let’s wrap this up nice and easy. “Let’s put the moms back in with the lambs,” I yelled over the noise. “It’ll settle down and we can clean up in peace.”
That was the plan anyway.
We opened the gate and let them back together… and it got louder. Not quieter. Louder.
That’s when it hit me.
What have I done?
My mind went straight to the worst-case scenario. Did shearing change their smell? Are they confused? Are these lambs never going to find their moms again? Did I just sign myself up for bottle feeding a whole pile of lambs? I stood there watching, second guessing every decision I’d made that day.
Then, slowly, it started to settle. Not all at once. Just little bits at a time. A lamb would find its way back. Another would latch on. A ewe would stop calling.
And that’s when the thought popped into my head.
Rod… you’re being ridiculous.
If your mother got a haircut… you’d still recognize her.
I headed back to the house around 7:30 for a late supper, with that noise still ringing in my ears. By about 8, it was quiet. Everything back to normal. Lambs nursing like nothing ever happened, ewes standing there looking fresh and clean.
And me… sitting there feeling a little foolish for doubting it all.
Funny how quick the mind can run off on you when things get loud.
Farmer Rod
