FOR the past week John has been clipping the sheep. As a young lad and, as a member of a sheep clipping gang, he could clip all day and just need a hot bath and a hot meal (and he hoped a hot woman) to restore him.

Now he limits himself to about 10 to 20 ewes in the morning and needs the rest of the day, and the tender ministrations of his wife, to survive.

Every year he claims that he is an ex-sheep clipper and every year the phone starts to ring and the requests come in. “Are you clipping yet? Could I bring our sheep along?”

These are nearly all from friends or friends of friends, who just run a few pet ewes in orchards or to keep down a paddock. We know such leisured friends I tell you.

Sheep completely change their look and identities once clipped. Suddenly this bony headed creature emerges with a pendulous bag swinging between their back legs. And that is not only the ewes. The tups look positively preposterous; or possibly they are just showing off what big boys they are. And it is not only to us humans that they look completely changed in identity and appearance. It is to each other as well. Especially the tups.

It is at such times that a confined space is a useful piece of kit. Once the tups are clipped John makes sure that they are kept for at least 24 hours in close confinement in our cattle trailer. That way they cannot take a long run at each other and clash bony head on bony head with this suddenly new, unidentified rival for the ewes affections. They could actually kill each other if left with enough space to build up the momentum for a tup on tup battle. Many years ago one did. Hasn’t happened since.

But, and there is always a but, even the best laid plans go wrong. Friends have just been clipping their flock. They have more sheep than us and more tups and had isolated an area where the tups could be kept after they had been shorn.

“We thought they would be safe there,” my friend Rosie said. “Not enough space for them to attempt self annihilation. But we were wrong. When we let them out the next morning they looked like they had been in for several rounds with the late great Muhammad Ali.”

And to end on a totally different but still curiously related topic, I must relate an event at a track and field championship I attended today to support (ie take) my granddaughter, who was participating in the discus event. She is a very sporty girl, not at all like her Mamma.

As we waited for Jess’ competition to start, the result for a sprint event was announced and a lad called Muhammad Ali came first. What a cheer resounded round the stadium, not only for the winner, but also for the memory. And Jessica won her event too. A real double whammy.