Yesterday was sheep shearing day at the farm next door. The ewes, rams and lambs in the shed became a choir; a cacophony of cries. But to themselves, they understood completely what they were bleating on about and perhaps it was something along the lines of: ‘Careful Doris, don’t step on my hooves. I’ve only just had them filed!’ ‘I’ll try, but it’s a bit of a squeeze in this queue.’ ‘Well try losing some of that lambing weight.’ ‘Speak for yourself! Anyway, looks like we’re due for a shave today.’ ‘About time! I’ve had to drag this coat through the mud all winter and I can barely see through my fringe. I was voted the worst coat in the flock the other day.’ ‘I’m going to ask for a complete all-over shave; a makeover. That’ll show Roger for going off with another ewe.’ ‘Betsy had a few swirls put in last time, so I’m going to ask for that.’ ‘That’ll look bleatin' lovely!’ ‘But do you think the shearers really listen? They just shave their own way most of the time