The recent bout of hot weather in Bree land could only mean one thing. Time for shearing.
Besides the clear cool stream which ran near to the farm, a makeshift pen held dozens of thick coated ewes, with their rather chunky lambs by their sides as they wheeled away from the watchful sheepdog guarding their escape.
Old wooden doors were pushed into the stream by Griff, and his brother, Bill, damming up the water to create a waist deep pool.
There were four workers in total; Griff, Bill, their father Rhys, and the hired hand Glyn. There was also a fifth person, who was lying under a tree on a blanket, the sun illuminating her red hair in a dazzling way as she dozed lightly.
Just the sight of his lover made Griff smile, though he soon had to remember there was work to be done still!
So! Into the sea of sheep waded Glyn, pouncing down on one and dragging it by the wool to the shore. An impressive ewe looked unimpressed as Griff reached for it, standing waist deep in the water and pulling it in to soak it. He turned with it then, still holding onto it tightly before passing it over to Bill, who flipped it onto its back and pushed it under the water to make sure it was wet all through before letting it swim freely to the shore, and into the other pen in the sunshine.
Above the two boys stood Rhys, the water coming up to his knees, as he leaned onto his shepherds crook while sharp old eyes inspected each and every washed sheep for any injuries or lameness.
The work carried on, and Glyn as jolly as ever started to sing the old small shearing song that most farmers in the area knew from their childhoods, mostly their grandmothers singing it to them by the fire.
Wash sheep for the better where water does run,
and then let her go freely to dry in the sun.
Then shear her and spare not, when two days do end,
The sooner the better her corpse will amend.
Reward not your sheep - when you take off her coat-
with deep cuts and scratches, as broad as a goat.
Let not such ungentleness happen to yours,
lets fly with her maggots will leave nasty sores
The morning passed on to noon by the time they were done, and all sheep were now starting to dry under the high sun. Finally the stream was undammed and the water could flow, and Griff could go for the day to rest with a fine pint of cider.
