Shear Madness

You think "sheep," you think "pastoral," you think "gentle"?you usually don't think "barked obscenities" and "shrieks of terror, pain and frustration." You don't think "elbow in the spine." Yet at the Prospect Park Zoo's Fleece Festival, that's pretty much what you ended up with.

It wasn't the zoo's fault, certainly. They had all the best intentions. It was a very clean, simple idea. Put a few sheep on display in the pens around the petting zoo barn, bring in a bluegrass combo, gather the kids around for a few stories and give a few demonstrations of sheep shearing

Neither my girlfriend nor I had ever been witness to a sheep shearing before, and thought it might be an odd thing to check out and the source for some interesting pictures.

Both of my parents grew up on farms, and as a result, I grew up with stories about sheep and sheep shearing.

"They don't bite," my dad told me, "but they kick, and they have sharp little hooves. They seem to like it though, once you get started, and afterwards they run around like skinny little rats."

It sounded like something to see, so early on a Sunday afternoon we walked over to the zoo, arriving half an hour before the first shearing of the day was supposed to occur, and found our way to the barn out behind the "Animals in Our Lives" building. Last time I was at a petting zoo I was seven, and a goat attacked me. That was in Milwaukee. I guess I deserved it.

Here, thank goodness, I saw I would be protected, as the sheep in the collection (several rare breeds) were kept in chickenwire pens. Docile creatures, sheep, with mighty dexterous lips (the latter observation the result of feeding a few of them pellets from the nearby vending machines).

Funny thing about sheep shit: it comes out in pellet form. I didn't expect that. Morgan commented that it was almost as if you fed them these pellets from the machine, and those pellets then pass through the entire digestive system intact, only to come out the other end. Later, these same pellets would be swept up and replaced in the machines.

"Maybe that's why they have a place over there where you can wash your hands," she said, noticing the parents lined up with their kids to dutifully scrub all the sheep germs away.

Around the side of the barn, a bluegrass combo plucked away.

It wasn't clear exactly where the shearing was going to take place. It could've been anywhere. So we took up a spot along one of the sheep pens, and waited.

The crowd was beginning to grow. Strollers were arriving from every direction. Unsupervised children were jumping up and down upon the feet of strangers. Unsupervised adults were doing the same.

There was a growing electricity in the air.

When a zoo employee carrying a pair of electric shears?a man in his early 30s, I'd say?strode through the crowd and entered a fenced-off section of yard, all hell broke loose. Harried, tense, middle-aged women scooped up children (or simply grabbed and dragged them) and ran for the fence. Bored fathers spun strollers around and plowed into the heart of the crowd. Everyone was heading for the same small spot on the fence (the only spot that would allow any sort of view of the goings-on) but everyone was trying to get there from a different direction. The inevitable disaster that was at hand immediately became apparent.

Quite suddenly, a peaceful, sunny day at the petting zoo had been transformed into the climactic scene from Day of the Locust. Children were crying. Water bottles and stuffed animals were flying through the air. A woman's voice behind us screamed "I can't!?I got this woman riding my fuckin' ass!" People were elbowing themselves into position, using their offspring as battering rams so they could get closer to the action, using golf umbrellas and strollers as weapons. Eyes obscured by huge designer frames and too much makeup went wide with panic and bloodlust. The dust underfoot rose in great clouds and the shrieks grew louder.

It was pretty ugly.

There was a moment?albeit a brief one?when I had my hand on the fence, actually had it on the fence itself, but before I could gain a better hold, I was clipped below the knees by a stroller being shoved along by a man mad with confusion and rage.

Realizing we probably would never see anything from where we stood?realizing, in fact, that we'd only be shoved farther and farther back until we were standing in the goddamn barn?Morgan suggested that we move around to the other side of the yard, opposite where this crowd stood and seethed, over on the other side of the pond. She had a mighty zoom lens for her camera, so it just might work out.

I can understand the behavior of these parents. You drag your kid out to see a sheep shearing, you goddamn want to see a sheep shearing, even if the brats can't quite walk yet, or aren't even aware of what a sheep is. Your kid, I know, deserves to see a sheep shearing more than anyone else. Because.

I can also remember quite clearly what it was like to be a short kid at the zoo, trying to maneuver myself into a position where I might actually be able to see the polar bear, or the gorilla, or the lynx, when all of these big people were in my way.

I also realize full well that Morgan and I were perhaps the only childless adults at this thing?we were just there to have fun?and so perhaps we didn't deserve to see the goddamn sheep shearing. But still. Jesus. These parents were awful. I can see why their kids were such monsters?and why later in the afternoon, we had to tell some little blubberpot to stop throwing sticks at the poor capybara.

Anyway, back to the shearing itself.

Inside the barn, a four-horned sheep was loaded into a large wooden crate, which was then carried quietly past the brawling throng and into the yard. The gate was opened, the man with the shears pulled the beast out, flipped it on its back and proceeded to shear it. Though we had an unimpeded view from where we stood now, it was an unimpeded view of the shearer's back, and one of the sheep's legs.

"Didn't think we'd spend the whole time just lookin' at this guy's butt," the woman next to us said.

"Looks like he's performing some kind of unnatural sexual act," I said, keeping the potty mouth at bay in deference to the kiddies.

Five minutes after he started, he was done. He helped the beast?now naked and pink?back to its feet, and shoved it back in the crate before it had a chance to scamper away.

We decided it was time to go look at the seals instead, but things weren't much better out there.